The Apprentice
by Deborah Peters
Summary: In 1998, Severus Snape was given a second chance. In 1976, he has to figure out how to take it.
1. Prologue: Early June, 1976

**Title:** The Apprentice

**Author:** Deborah Peters

**Pairing:** Severus/Lily

**Rating:** PG-13, with the occasional burst of R

**Genre:** Drama

**Disclaimer:** If _Harry Potter_ belonged to me, there are at least a half dozen characters who would still be alive.

**Summary:** In 1998, Severus Snape was given a second chance. In 1976, he has to figure out how to take it.

* * *

**Prologue**

**June, 1976**

And then, suddenly, the pain cleared, and all his blood rushed to his head.

As previously all his blood had been gushing out of a ragged wound in his throat, this could only be considered an improvement.

And then he opened his eyes, and saw that he was being dangled, in midair, by his ankles, courtesy of Harry Potter, who seemed to have lost his glasses.

Harry Potter, who seemed to have gained the company of a two-years-dead, twenty-years-younger Sirius Black, as well as a less-scarred Remus Lupin and _Wormtail_—

That wasn't Harry Potter. And this was all too familiar. And a young redhead who was not, in fact, Ginny Weasley, said, "Let him down!"

Severus Snape groaned, muttered, "For Merlin's sake, not this again," and wordlessly Summoned his wand, which smacked satisfyingly into his hand. He countered the jinx and righted himself, floating to the ground with as much grace as a hallucinating dead man can muster. He landed in front of—well, he might as well admit it—the late James Potter, who was staring at him, mouth open.

Severus pulled his wand on him. Potter froze.

How satisfying.

"Potter," he spat, fifteen years' teaching instinct kicking in. "I have had quite enough. You will immediately stop this nonsense. If you attempt to surprise me again in such a manner, you will immediately find yourself in multiple pieces with no hope of restitution and as I can only presume Mr and Mrs Potter would, for whatever reason, _miss_ you," he sneered, "let us both strive to prevent that unfortunate, but by no means inevitable, scenario, shall we?"

Potter's mouth hung open stupidly. He barely managed to muster a weak, "Whaa?"

Severus stared him down over the tip of his wand. Potter didn't move. Neither, strangely, did Black, Lupin, or Pettigrew—or any of the other students gathered for the spectacle. In fact, every single person on the shore of the lake was staring at him in silence.

It was disconcerting.

Severus nodded at the still-gaping Potter, tried (and failed) to avoid glancing at the young redhead, and stalked off towards the castle with a customary flourish of his (worn, graying, too-short) robes.

This was the strangest dream (near-death hallucination?) he had ever had.

He had almost reached the castle when the voice he'd never managed to forget called out from behind him. "Sev?"

He stopped.

"Sev, wait a second."

Severus turned around, and there she was.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know very well what I mean," Lily said. "How did you—since when could you put Potter in his place like that? What happened to you—" She gestured vaguely at his face. "—all red faced and sputtering and 'bloody' and inappropriate suggestions about his mother and everything? How are you so calm? Did someone cast a soapmouth hex on you? And that's putting aside the wandless _accio_—where has _that_ been hiding all this time?"

It had been twenty years since he'd heard one of Lily's disjointed speeches, and yet his subconscious was still somehow capable of providing one for him. It was almost amusing, really.

Unless—

Unless somehow—

"Lily?" Severus asked, before he could stop himself.

"Yes, what?" Lily replied, a little testily.

"It's not actually _you_ you," Severus said slowly. "It's not. Is it?"

"What?" Lily repeated. "Severus, you didn't hit your head when Potter flipped you upside down, did you?"

The response was so perfectly _Lily_, so completely outside anything he would ever think to say, that Severus did something he hadn't done in at least five years. He laughed. Lily blinked at him.

"I am exploring new depths of my subconscious," he said by way of explanation, and he couldn't help himself—he reached out a hand to her.

She took it.

* * *

A/N: This story wouldn't exist without the inspiration of Sindie's _The Moment It Began_. If you haven't read it, you really ought to—it's one of the best in this subgenre.


	2. June 1976, pt 1

_This chapter has been edited to now contain material from what _was_ chapter two. I hope you enjoy the new longer-chapter format._

* * *

**Chapter One**

**June, 1976**

When Lily took his hand, the amalgam of shock, amusement, and—Merlin forbid—_hope_, these long-forgotten _emotions_ that were all battling for supremacy in his not-empty mind—did one find emotions in the _mind_ or elsewhere—where were emotions? They were intangible, but they exploded all the same into a thousand tiny particles that ran up his fingers and along his arm straight into his spine.

She was _real_. He was touching her.

Circe, she was so _young_.

Sixteen, to be precise, and given the state of his unstained, even-bonier, shorter (but still fairly long) fingers (he hadn't dared to look at his left forearm), he was physically the same age. And, more importantly, not at all bleeding to death from a gaping throat wound.

And he had put the ever-entitled Potter the elder quite firmly in his place.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, unless this was an afterlife. And for all Severus' faults, blind optimism could not be said to be one of them. As a) a terrible person, who b) had enjoyed mocking the adherents of any and all religions for many years (twenty-three), Severus had no doubts that, if there _were_ an afterlife, he would not be getting an invitation to the good sort. And here he was, sixteen years old with the sixteen-year-old love of his life. So.

Which serpent venoms have hallucinogenic properties?

Ophiophagus hannah and Naja naja may be hallucinogenic when dehydrated and inhaled, but the Indian alchemists tended to mix the venom sacks with potent cannabis, so their reports were somewhat less than reliable.

And he'd done so many tests on Nagini under the guise of caring for her health that hallucinogenic properties would surely not have gone undetected…

A Time Turner? (The Time Turners had been destroyed in 1996.) A Pensieve malfunction brought on by ill-executed memory extraction? (He had already diverted from the original memory.)

Perhaps…perhaps he was truly _there_.

But why?

"Why?"

Severus blinked rapidly. "I beg your pardon?" he murmured, Occluding his face to a safe neutral.

Lily was waving her free hand in front of his face. "Why are you staring at me? Sev, are you quite there? You haven't said anything for a whole minute."

Severus allowed her hand to drop. "My apologies, Lily," he said smoothly. "Please forgive me. I've been rather lost in thought."

Lily was looking at him askance. "I can see that. Sev, are you going to explain to me what happened out there?"

Severus ran his fingers over his wand—not so smooth as it had been twenty-two years later—and shook his head. "What can I say?" he said mildly. "Potter needed to be put in his place."

"I'll say. But how did you possibly—"

"It's amazing what one can do when one distances oneself from one's baser emotional reactions," Severus said. "Which I have resolved to do."

Lily blinked at him. "What?"

Severus swallowed. "I'm trying to think before I act," he said.

"Well, it worked." Lily smiled at him. "I've seen you do a couple of wordless spells here and there, but I've never seen you do _wandless_ before."

Severus shrugged.

"It's not…" Lily bit her lip. "It's not something you learned from…your other friends, this year, is it?"

Severus snorted. "Those imbeciles? I think not." Seeing the relief in her eyes, he added, "Incidentally, I don't believe I'll be spending further time with them. They add nothing to my academic career and their social company leaves much to be desired."

"That's…that's great," Lily said. "That's really wonderful. You know I—I worried—"

"I know," Severus said. "I should confess that I…appreciate. Your concern."

Lily smiled. "Thank you, Severus."

"If you'll excuse me. I'm sure there is studying I yet need to do."

Lily's mouth quirked. "We've only got one practical exam left."

"Yes, well, one can never…learn too much." Severus inwardly scoffed at himself. Two decades a spy, and he couldn't hold a conversation with a 16-year-old girl.

"That's…wise," Lily said. She grinned at him and added, as though quoting, "You are _such_ a Ravenclaw."

"Better a closet Ravenclaw than a shameless Gryffindor," Severus replied, the customary retort coming to his lips as easily as it had when he'd been fifteen. Lily looked as though she was likely to burst into either laughter or tears—Severus wasn't sure.

"Well, secret son of Rowena," she said at last, "You'll probably want this." She held out a bedraggled object Severus belatedly recognized as his own schoolbag. "I can't believe you left it out there. You're usually so protective of it."

Severus took it from her with a slight bow. "My thanks," he said.

Lily smiled wryly. "Say whatever else about those Slytherins you've been keeping company with," she said, "but at least they've improved your manners."

Severus blushed—he _blushed_, for Merlin's sake—and nodded to her. "Good day, Lily," he said, and turned to enter the castle.

"Severus," Lily called. "Are we—I mean. We _are_ friends?"

Severus glanced back at her. "As I've never had another," he said, feeling bolder at that moment than he had when he'd willingly gone to his death, "I certainly hope so."

* * *

Severus collapsed onto the green-curtained four-poster bed that he was fairly certain was his—at least, it was where he'd remembered and was surrounded by stacks of advanced Dark Arts and Potions texts—and closed the curtains around him with a flick of his wand. A few—well, several—privacy spells later, and he was able to relax (as much as he ever relaxed).

He was, he decided, in 1976. To continue to consider other scenarios—that he was dead, or locked in a hallucinogenic dream—would only drive him mad. So, until he was given concrete evidence to the contrary, he would operate under the assumption that he had gone back to the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts.

Severus lay on his back in the darkened room, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

Assuming he was, in fact, in 1976—and assume it he would have to, or face insanity—there had to be a particular reason for his return (or else life was random and meaningless, another prospect that would drive him to madness).

Severus exhaled slowly.

When he had—when he had died, back, in the future (oh Merlin), it had seemed that all had been going according to plan. All of Dumbledore's machinations were bearing fruit, and each of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes—Severus Snape was not the fool the Dark Lord and Dumbledore _still_ seemed to expect him to be; he knew what it meant for a "fragment of soul" to live inside Harry and tie the Dark Lord to this Earth—each of the Horcruxes had, he was certain, been destroyed, with the obvious exceptions of the thrice-damned snake and the Dumbledore-damned boy.

Severus had had two purposes in his miserable life, which was to protect Harry Potter and to bring down the Dark Lord (admittedly, these goals were more than somewhat related, but the thought of having had just _one_ purpose was simply depressing). So if, upon his death, he was not cast into darkness or absorbed into the magical ether or any number of other possibilities that, frankly, he _would not consider_ at this time—

Severus turned over onto his side.

It stood to reason—and Severus was big on reason—that Severus' life goal had not been achieved, and he had been sent back to 1976 in order to do the damn thing properly, or else the world would be thrust into despair and all would perish in the blazing inferno of a Dark Lord-run totalitarian etcetera etcetera.

Because the thought that he had been sent back for the purpose of correcting his own personal mistakes—the small, petty ones that had led to a life of misery—well that was just _silly_. If anybody deserved that kind of second chance, well…

It wasn't Severus.

So, Severus was here—he _had_ to be here—in order to bring down the Dark Lord, who was—if memory served, and it generally did—currently amassing followers and amusing himself with little jaunts, rather than full-on _reigns_, of terror.

He pulled his knees up to his chest (Salazar, he was bony).

When had the Dark Lord created his Horcruxes? Severus had gathered that they consisted of the Diary, the damnable Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Blacks' locket, and whatever the hell it was Harry Potter had been looking for in the Ravenclaw Common Room—and then, of course, the boy and the snake. Presumably, all but the boy and the snake had been created by 1976. Surely.

Severus made a mental note to look at a few choice old newspapers, just to be certain, and he breathed out.

His path was clear: he needed to destroy the Horcruxes and take down the Dark Lord, before he had a chance to make an extra Horcrux or two and rise again. When the Dark Lord fell, he would fall for good.

One destroyed Horcruxes with Basilisk venom, or with Fiendfyre.

Severus groaned and rolled onto his back.

As an adult, he had been perfectly capable of producing Fiendfyre, although he had never been so foolish as to do so outside of a fully-controlled, warded laboratory environment. Given what had happened at the lake, he was fairly certain he would also be able to do so now—but between the Trace (oh _Merlin_, that was something he hadn't had to worry about for half a lifetime) and the lack of a sufficiently warded environment, he somehow doubted a Fiendfyre-wielding 16-year-old would go unnoticed.

And if there was one thing Severus really, really wanted, it was to be unnoticed.

That left Basilisk venom. Unfortunately, given how many years it had been since someone had seen a Basilisk, let alone killed one—Severus chose not to think upon the enormous monster still lurking underneath the school—the cost of Basilisk venom was so high that he'd have to be a Malfoy in order to afford the amount of venom necessary to destroy even one Horcrux.

Severus, he had never been too modest to admit, was a man of many skills. But charging into a secret dungeon chamber in order to slay a great mythic beast was not a scenario for which his particular skill set was suitable.

Not that he couldn't do it.

But when it came to devising a way to get around the limitation of an extremely limited supply of what was, essentially, when it came down to it, a Potions ingredient?

Severus opened his eyes.

Well, he'd just have to work a way around it. And if the theory didn't exist—which it didn't—well, he'd have to be the man who devised it. And soon.

Severus smirked and took down the protective spells around his bed.

* * *

"Mr Snape," Professor Slughorn said, his walrus mustache twitching in what Severus could only assume was surprise. "To what do I owe this, er, visit?"

"May I come in, sir?" Severus asked from the doorway.

Slughorn Levitated a box of candied pineapple off of one of the overplush chairs and gestured for Severus to take a seat. "What seems to be the trouble? Surely you feel pleased with your performance on the exams."

"I had no trouble with the exams," Severus said evenly. "Which is my issue. Sir, I would like to sit my NEWTs early."

Slughorn frowned. "You realize that is unorthodox," he said, tapping a pudgy finger on the top of his desk.

Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, sir, but I believe I am wasting time here on multidisciplinary studies when I could be focusing on a truly worthy field."

Slughorn smiled. "Ah, a man after my own heart, of course, of course. So it's Potions for you, is it? I rather thought it would be."

"Indeed, sir."

"Well, Mr Snape," Slughorn said, "as I say, it _is_ unorthodox, but I am perfectly willing to discuss the possibility of your moving into seventh-year classes next year and sitting your NEWTs a year early. How does that sound?" He beamed at Severus, clearly expecting a bounty of gratitude.

"Well, sir, that is kind of you," Severus replied, "but I was rather hoping to take _this_ year's examinations."

Slughorn's eyes flew open. "Mr Snape!" he exclaimed. "I've never thought of you as having a—I mean, of exhibiting such a _unique_ sense of humor, but you almost had me for a moment." He chortled. "Why, the NEWTs begin tomorrow."

"I know, sir," Severus said, "which is why I came to you this evening. The lack of a challenge provided by the OWLs have proven to me that I have nothing to gain by remaining at this institution for another two years."

"It simply can't be done," Slughorn said. "It's far too unorthodox. Far too. Unorthodox." His finger tapped the desk.

"Yes, sir, but mightn't we make an exception?" Severus said. "Frankly, I can't imagine any of the professors are _eager_ for me to remain at Hogwarts for two more years."

Slughorn, amusingly, managed to bluster out a "oh no, dear boy, I don't know what you're talking about" that was _almost_ convincing. Severus simply watched him until Slughorn relented, "But still, it's simply too short notice."

Severus affected a sigh. "All right, sir, I'll tell you the real reason I am so eager to leave Hogwarts. Sir, I am afraid for my personal safety." He glanced nervously behind him at the open office door.

Slughorn frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sir," Severus said seriously, leaning forward, "I was attacked by the lake this afternoon with no provocation whatsoever. I was hexed and publically humiliated by a pack of fifth-year Gryffindors with no sense of consequences and I have absolutely no doubt that it will happen again."

Slughorn waved a hand dismissively. "Youthful high-spirits," he said. "I'm sure there was no malevolence behind it. They're just boys, after all."

"Technically," Severus said lightly, "one is a dangerous Dark Creature who should not, legally speaking, even be at this school."

Slughorn blinked. He stared. He quickly waved his wand and the door of his office closed with a smooth _snick_. "That," he said quietly, "is a rather serious accusation you make, Mr Snape."

"It is," Severus agreed.

"Such things are not to be said lightly."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Slughorn leaned back and stared at him.

"You want to sit this year's NEWTs?" he said at last.

"Yes, sir," Severus said.

"Which?"

"Potions, naturally," Severus said, swallowing back the crow of triumph that had uncharacteristically risen in his chest. "And Defense. Charms, Transfigurations, and Herbology, of course, and also Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"That's all?" Slughorn asked mildly.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," Slughorn said. "I'll see what can be arranged."

Severus stood. "Thank you, sir. I truly appreciate it."

Slughorn waved him away with one wide hand. Severus left the office, feeling Slughorn's eyes on him all the way.

* * *

All the hopes Severus had entertained of skulking unobtrusively into the Great Hall for dinner were immediately quashed when Evan Rosier—who was not, of course, dead yet—waved him over with an over-loud, "There he is!"

Severus groaned inwardly and quickly decided that, were he to take the only _other_ empty chair at the Slytherin table—one amongst the second-years—his behaviour would be _remarkably_ strange, and so he would have to take the seat between Rosier and Avery. He rather hoped Lily wasn't watching, and then he wondered why he should care so very deeply.

"So," Rosier said, clapping Severus rather roughly on the shoulder, "I can't believe I missed it."

"'Missed it'?" Severus repeated, his face a careful neutral.

Rosier snorted. "Like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Did you really hex Potter's glasses into the lake?" Mulciber asked, leaning across the table towards him.

"Did I—no." Snape shook his head.

"_I_ heard," said Avery, "that Pettigrew actually _shat_ himself."

"Not to my knowledge," Severus said dryly. He pulled his plate towards him and, in the hopes of fighting off a seemingly never-ending hunger, took a large forkful of potatoes.

"Well _I_ heard," Rosier said, grinning wickedly, "that you took down all four of the fifth-year Gryffindors _wandlessly_."

"It was just Potter," Severus said. Avery dropped his fork, and it clattered against a plate.

Severus glanced up, his eyes expressionless. "Yes?" he asked pointedly.

"So you _did_ take down Potter wandless," Rosier said breathlessly. "How did you do it?"

"I studied," Severus sneered.

Oddly, Mulciber and Avery seemed to relax at that. "That's old Sniv—er, Snape," Avery said.

"What?" Severus asked. This was getting tiresome.

"Your face," Mulciber said, gesturing vaguely. "It was all blank. Creepy."

Severus blinked, and Occluded, and Avery and Mulciber visibly recoiled. "There you go again," Avery said.

Evidently, it had been his habit at sixteen to walk around with hatred plastered firmly on his face at all times—and without twenty-two years' misery etching its lines across his features, his habitual, cold expression seemed out of place. He forced a sneer. Avery and Mulciber relaxed.

"Mr Snape," said a familiar voice over his shoulder, and Severus had to fight the urge to jump out a window. He turned around and said, "Yes, Professor?"

Minerva was frowning at him. "The Headmaster would like to meet with you in his office immediately after dinner," she said. "We will see you promptly at seven o'clock."

"'We,' Professor?" Severus repeated, a kernel of dread rising in his stomach.

"Professor Slughorn, the Headmaster, and myself," Minerva said. "At seven o'clock."

"Yes, Professor," Severus said, nodding.

Minerva peered at him for a moment, and then she turned on her heel and veritably marched to the head table.

When she'd left, Rosier turned back to Severus. "What did you _do_, Snape?" he demanded.

"I've petitioned to sit my NEWTs early," Severus replied, seeing no reason to dissemble.

"What, next year?" Avery said.

"No," Severus replied. "Tomorrow." He took a sip of pumpkin juice and wished for Firewhiskey.

"Tomorrow?" Mulciber sputtered. "_Tomorrow_, tomorrow?"

"And tomorrow and tomorrow," Severus muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Why in Merlin's name would you want to go and do a thing like that for?" Rosier demanded.

"It's time I moved on to receive my education elsewhere," Severus said vaguely, and he took another forkful of potatoes.

* * *

When he arrived at Dumbledore's office, Slughorn was waiting for him outside the gargoyles. "Ah, Mr Snape," he said, "the very man."

Severus inclined his head. "Good evening, Professor."

Slughorn turned to the gargoyle and said, "Ziggy Stardust." The Gargoyle stood aside. Severus blinked.

"After you, Mr Snape," Slughorn said with a wave of his hand, and Severus started up the spiralling staircase. Minerva and Dumbledore—Severus' mental shields slammed into place—were waiting for them within.

If Severus had been a less practiced spy, it would've been too much for him. Here was a Dumbledore untouched by a debilitating curse, a Dumbledore not killed by Severus' unwilling hand—and, perhaps he was imagining that he could see it, but a Dumbledore who didn't view him solely as a soulless weapon to be wielded against the Dark Lord.

"Good evening, Headmaster," Severus said.

"Severus, my boy," Dumbledore said. "Please have a seat."

Severus took the centre chair; Slughorn sat to his left; McGonagall hovered behind the chair to the right. Dumbledore leaned over his desk. "So," he said, "Professor Slughorn tells me that you are interested in—nay, you _insist_ upon—taking this year's NEWTs."

"I would appreciate the opportunity," Severus replied.

"I'm sure you would," Dumbledore said. "Now, I am given to understand that you fear for your safety at this school. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir." Severus nodded. "Only this afternoon I was attacked without provocation by a dangerous group of Gryffindor boys-"

"Headmaster!" Minerva objected.

"Yes, thank you, Severus, Professor Slughorn has shared with us your account of this afternoon's events," Dumbledore said. "He also said that you feel unchallenged by the current curriculum, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Severus said. "I had no difficulty whatsoever with the OWLs, and I truly believe that, given how much of my extracurricular time has been devoted to my studies, I am currently ready to take on the NEWTs. Spending two more years here would only prolong my exposure to certain unsavoury elements of—"

"Headmaster!" Minerva again.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Supposing we allow you to sit your NEWTs this year, what do you intend to do thereafter?"

"Ideally, sir," Severus said, "I would begin an apprenticeship under a Potions Master. That is, of course, if my professor is willing to grant me a recommendation." Severus chanced a slight, hopeful smile at Slughorn…who simply stared at him. Damn.

Dumbledore nodded. "A worthy ambition, to be sure. Well, Severus, I see no reason why you shouldn't begin the examinations tomorrow."

Minerva made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat.

"Thank you, sir," Severus said.

"Your future career plans will, of course, be determined by your performance," Dumbledore continued. "I do want to stress to you that if you are not happy with your marks in any way, you are free to resume your education next year and try again in the future. In any way," he repeated. "You are welcome to try again even if you merely wish to turn Es into Os."

"Thank you, sir," Severus said, "but I truly believe I am ready now."

"Well, I am delighted by your confidence," Dumbledore said. "You have permission to take the examinations, and we can evaluate the next step to your career once the results are sent in mid-July."

Severus scooted to the edge of his chair, the face of anxious anticipation. "Sir, is there any way I could begin, perhaps, an informal apprenticeship before the formal results are sent?"

"Whatever for, my boy?" Dumbledore seemed mildly concerned.

"It's just that—I'd rather not go back. Home. That is." Severus looked down at his hands, frowning and fidgeting.

"Ah." Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. "Too many painful memories? I was so sorry to hear of your mother's passing."

Severus nodded sadly.

"Well," Dumbledore said, "I suppose that's something we could take into consideration, though I don't know if too many Potions Masters would be eager to accept a sixteen-year-old boy who may, or may not, in fact, be qualified to begin an apprenticeship a month later."

"I would work for free," Severus said, a touch of desperation creeping into his voice. "I just—" He swallowed. "I would much rather not go back."

"I understand," Dumbledore said. "Now, one more concern before I bid you 'good evening' and leave you to an exciting evening of revision…"

"Yes, sir?" Severus kept his mental shields slammed down tight.

"In your years at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "you may have become familiar with practices of this administration which might be…disagreeable to you personally."

Severus kept his silence.

"If you exit this institution early," Dumbledore continued, "I hope you will keep in mind the need for discretion regarding such policies, as to bring certain discussions to a non-scholastic venue could very well do far more personal harm than public good." He regarded Severus solemnly over his spectacles.

"I have no reason," Severus said distinctly, "to speak ill of an institution that has so readily prepared me for my future career."

McGonagall made a small noise of protest, but said nothing.

"I am pleased to hear that," Dumbledore said. "I will arrange a place for you in the examinations, and we will take into consideration your request for an interim summer position. Good evening, Severus."

Severus bowed his head and rose to his feet. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate this. Very much." He headed for the doorway.

"Mr Snape," Slughorn called, "let me head down with you." The fat man joined him in the revolving stairwell and, once they had descended about halfway, said, "Well, that was impressive."

Severus turned to him blankly. "Sir?"

"Just a few words of advice, Mr Snape," Slughorn said quietly, placing one pudgy hand on Severus' angular shoulder. "If one is going to utilize the death of a family member for personal gain—"

"Sir!" Severus said, eyes widening.

"—one should take care to appear at least slightly affected by that death when it happens, and not only four months later."

"Sir," Severus said again, "I am not sure what you're implying—"

"My second piece of advice," Slughorn continued mildly, "is, that when one begins to utilize Occlumency on a daily basis, one should ensure that one's face does not suddenly become _totally_ without expression."

Severus cursed his unlined child's face and affected confusion in his eyes.

"Better," Slughorn said. They had reached the bottom of the stairwell, but Slughorn kept his hand on Severus' shoulder. "All the same, an otherwise impressive performance." He shook Severus' shoulder slightly, smiled, and said, "My business partner might be able to use some stock help over the next few months. I'll owl him." He stepped out of the alcove, glanced back at Severus, and added, "Whether he offers you an apprenticeship is, however, up to you. Best of luck on the examinations." And Slughorn set off down the hallway.

* * *

Well after lights out, Severus stood in front of the mirror in the Slytherin boys' lavatory, peering at his sixteen-year-old self. Really, not much had changed in twenty-two years—his nose still took the starring role amongst his facial features, and the unimpressive whole was still curtained by sheets of (greasy) black hair. At thirty-eight, his hair had been shot through with the occasional unobtrusive gray, and—of course—the lines on his face had given him an air of permanent derision. That was the only real difference; as Slughorn had pointed out, Severus' sixteen-year-old face looked oddly blank when not twisted into a sneer.

Severus would either need to retrain himself to constantly maintain an unpleasant expression until it became natural to him (a distasteful prospect), or figure out some other way to alter his appearance.

Severus' gaze landed upon a stray comb that someone had left behind. He picked it up and, furrowing his brow in concentration, tapped it with his wand.

He slipped his newly-created spectacles onto his face and blinked at his reflection. The black, rectangular frames did a fair job of blocking his expression, but—he realized suddenly—did not fit his current decade. Casting through his memory for a contemporary example, he tapped the glasses once more until they enlarged slightly; the frames were now square, and larger, covering his face from brow to cheekbone. Another tap of his wand darkened the glass ever so slightly, so that the lenses were tinted with just a hint of gray.

Severus looked at himself in the mirror. He sneered; he Occluded. The difference was not overly discernible.

As a bonus, he was now confident he could still pass a Transfigurations NEWT.


	3. June 1976, pt 2

Thanks for all the reviews! My apologies for the late update this week.

**

* * *

****Chapter Two**

**June, 1976**

Severus awoke early, as was his custom, and, after a quick rinse in the showers, threw on his robes (and new glasses) and headed to the Great Hall. He knocked back a quick cup of tea, snagged two pieces of toast off the table, and, dreading a morning's conversation with Mulciber and Avery—Rosier was tolerable, but not the three of them together—strode swiftly out onto the grounds.

He threw his satchel under a tree and sat heavily next to it, munched on his toast, and tried to remember everything he'd ever learned about Arithmancy and forgotten about in the last two decades.

At fifteen past nine, he pushed his way through the crowd of merrymaking students who had already finished their exams and queued up behind the seventh year Slytherins in the Entrance Hall.

After a few moments, one of the boys elbowed another, who turned around. It was Marty Wilkes, the head Slytherin Prefect, who had always been uncharacteristically decent to him. "Snape," he said with some surprise, "have you forgotten? OWLs were finished yesterday."

"I think the Transfigurations practical is this afternoon," Severus said lightly, "but I won't be taking it."

Wilkes peered at him. "What's with the specs?"

"Too many fine print books in poorly lit dungeons," Severus answered.

"So," Wilkes said slowly, "you know you're waiting to take the Arithmancy NEWT?"

Severus nodded.

"And," Wilkes added, "you're wearing glasses to it?"

Severus nodded, and allowed some of his impatience to show in the set of his shoulders.

"All right then." Wilkes turned back to his friend and Severus clearly heard the words "bloody weird" and "none of my business, really."

The last few breakfast stragglers wandered out of the Great Hall. Severus tried hiding in plain sight by shaking his hair into his face.

"Sev!" Lily exclaimed as she entered the Entrance Hall, and Severus cursed under his breath. Honestly, if he'd wanted to go unrecognized as himself, he would have been better off pushing his hair _back_. With a damned ribbon.

Lily trotted over to him. "What's with the glasses?" she asked.

"My eyesight's been going," Severus said. "Too much reading in poor light, I think."

Lily grinned. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Hmm." Severus leaned around Wilkes and peered into the Entrance Hall. They were still setting up the tables.

"So…what are you waiting for, here?" Lily asked. "Were you—were you waiting for me? Did you want to revise for the Transfigurations practical?"

"No." The tables seemed to be set up; they were adding the chairs.

"Oh. Okay. Sorry. I know we haven't done that in ages. I just thought, what with yesterday, if you wanted to… I didn't mean—"

Severus glanced back at Lily, who was chewing on her lower lip. "What?" Severus said. "I—Transfigurations? Sorry. Sorry." He felt his cheeks colour, which was, frankly, absurd. "No. It's not—thank you. I actually. Well." He took a deep breath. "I appreciate the offer, certainly," he said, "but I will not be taking the Transfigurations practical this afternoon."

"What?" Lily blinked. "Why ever not?"

"I have petitioned for, and been granted, permission to sit this year's NEWTs instead."

"Since when?" Lily said, surprise plain in her green eyes.

"Since—last night." The Slytherins were being called into the Great Hall. "Lily, I'm sorry, but I have to go—the exam is starting."

Lily frowned. "Okay. But I want to meet up later today. After dinner? In the rose garden?"

"Fine, fine," Severus said, and he walked quickly to catch up with the seventh-years.

* * *

Much to his surprise, Severus enjoyed the exam. Because of his experimental potions work, he was still well practiced with the application of many Arithmantic concepts—and he enjoyed the logic puzzle of figuring out the others. He rolled up his parchment a full ten minutes before the examination officially ended; he was confident his performance was enough to secure a solid E, if not quite the O he had achieved in two years, twenty years ago.

Maybe it was the tinted spectacles, but Severus' head was starting to hurt.

He found a quiet corner of the Entrance Hall in which to wait for the tables to be moved for lunch, and he leaned into the wall, his forehead pressed against the cool flagstones, and thought about ancient runes. He peripherally registered that he must have looked rather odd—he was fairly certain he heard a group of lower form girls giggling at him—but he was too engrossed in translating his thoughts to cuneiform to be concerned. (And even if he hadn't been lost in thought, what the devil did he care of what some brainless children thought of him?)

At lunch, he sat amongst the seventh-years—who shot him a few odd looks, but paid him no attention after Wilkes rolled his eyes and drew them into a conversation about the upcoming exams. Severus managed to eat half of a sandwich with one hand while the other supported a heavy rune dictionary. Rosier, sitting with Avery and Mulciber a ways down the table, tried to catch his eye; Severus simply ignored the other boy until he gave up.

Once the meal was over, Severus followed the seventh-years back out into the Entrance Hall and took up a sheltered position amongst them to wait for the next exam. The seventh-years, it seemed, had decided as a whole to ignore the sudden anomaly of his presence (which suited Severus just fine). But, he had to admit, there were far more fifth-years taking the Transfigurations practical OWL than Slytherns taking their NEWT in Ancient Runes, and someone was bound to spot him.

So it was with resignation rather than surprise that he heard, at last, "Oy, Snivelly, are you lost?"

Severus involuntarily turned around, the familiar hatred rising in his chest. Black was posturing near the front of the line of fifth-years, chest out, chin up, somehow swaggering while still. Severus wrestled with a child's instinct to shrink into his skeleton and hide, a teenager's impulse to pull his wand on Black and hex the bloody smirk off of his aristocratic face, and the adult's inclination to…pull his wand on Black and hex the bloody smirk off of his aristocratic face.

Severus settled for raising one eyebrow. "Black?"

Black snorted. "Decided to do us all a favour and hide that ugly mug at last, I see," he called. "Or were you finally blinded by all that grease dripping into your eyes?"

"Leave him alone, Black," Lily said angrily from her position in line. "He wasn't doing anything to you."

"Oooer," Black said suggestively. He cupped his hand around his mouth and called down towards the end of the line. "Hey, James. Better watch out. If it weren't a _physical impossibility_ I'd think Evans has a thing for Snivellus."

All at once, Potter let out a clap of laughter—"Ha!"—Lily exclaimed, "Shut up, Black!"; Severus felt his face heat up as he sputtered, "You _dare_—"; and Wilkes whirled around and bellowed, "If you fifth-years don't shut up _right this second_ I will start taking points." He glared furiously at each of them. "_Some_ of us have a very difficult examination in _four minutes_ and would like to be able to hear ourselves think."

Black and Potter fell silent with a great show of holding back laughter. Lily continued to alternate between glaring at Black and shooting apologetic glances at Severus, in which he tried not to be _too_ interested. Wilkes murmured, "If you can't ignore them, Snape, then I don't know what good you are as a Slytherin," and turned back to his friends.

From the end of the line, Rosier finally succeeded in catching Severus' eye by expediently hopping up and down and waving. _What?_ mouthed Severus.

_What are you doing?_ Rosier mouthed distinctly.

_Sitting the exam, you dunderhead._

Exaggerated confusion. _What?_

_Writing_, Severus pantomimed, _the exam._

_Over here. Wrong line._ Rosier beckoned.

_I'm taking the Ancient Runes NEWT_.

_What?_

Severus rolled his eyes, pulled a spare scrap of parchment from his bag, and scribbled, "I'm taking the Ancient Runes NEWT. Other NEWTs too." He tapped it with his wand and directed the paper airplane at Rosier, who opened it up, read it, and mouthed, _Why?_

In response, Severus gave him a look that had withered two decades of first-years.

Rosier shrugged back at him, but then held up his hands to form two circles around his eyes. _Why glasses?_

_Sod off, Rosier_.

_What?_

Exasperated, Severus simply flipped him two fingers and turned back around to face the entrance to the Great Hall.

He fought the inane urge to smile when he heard Lily's stifled giggle behind him.

* * *

The Ancient Runes exam did not go quite so well as he had hoped. Although he had been in the habit, as an adult, of reading ancient Potions and Dark Arts texts in their original languages, it had been years since he'd been forced to do so without a dictionary. Really, the examination was a completely artificial environment that did not accurately reflect a real-world application of a sound knowledge of ancient runes. Severus refused to believe that a slightly lower mark on this examination was any reflection of his abilities as a translator. If anything, it would be evidence that his mind had far better things to do than retain five hundred characters that he'd memorized twenty years ago. So.

At dinner, he'd been unable to avoid sitting with the ever-curious Rosier, who had grabbed him by the elbows in the Entrance Hall and escorted Severus to a seat between Mulciber and Avery. Severus repeated his explanations regarding his decision to take his NEWTs and the sudden appearance of his glasses. Fortunately, Avery and Mulciber had easily agreed that the fewer years spent in school, the better—"And it's not like you've got friends who—er, sorry"—and that the glasses couldn't possibly detract further from his appearance.

What kind friends he'd had.

Immediately after dinner, Severus managed to lose his housemates under the guise of heading to the library to revise for the NEWTs. Once they'd ambled off towards the dungeons, Severus doubled back, headed out of the castle, and waited for Lily in the gardens.

She caught up with him within only a few minutes and plopped down onto the bench, sitting sideways so that she faced him. She leaned forward and peered into his face.

He edged away. "What?"

Lily withdrew. "They're all right," she said. "The glasses, I mean. You can barely see your eyes behind them _at all_, but they're kind of stylish, so." She nodded. "They'll do."

"Thank you." Severus' upper lip quirked into half a smile.

"Now," Lily said, "regarding your sudden _insane_ decision to take this year's NEWTs."

Severus leaned back on his elbows, reclining on the bench. "Yes?"

Lily drummed her hands on her knees. "Well? _Why_?"

Severus glanced at her, once more grateful for the slightly-tinted glasses. "I've spent enough time here," he said. "I know the material, and the only thing I'll get out of two more years at Hogwarts is two more years of being attacked by Potter and his cronies."

"But what will you do?"

"Go into Potions," Severus said evenly. "Just…two years earlier than I'd originally planned."

"Will you…be going home for the summer?" Lily asked.

Severus shook his head. "Not if there's any way to avoid it. Slughorn is looking into an interim position for me, for the month before our exam results are in. I think he's also going to write me a recommendation for an apprenticeship." He snorted. "Strangely, after five years of ignoring me, he's taken a sudden interest in my career."

Lily lightly pushed his shoulder, grinning. "I _told_ you he didn't hate you."

Severus sniffed. "I never said he hated me. I said he was completely _indifferent_ to me, which I rather thought he was."

Lily laughed. "I'm honestly just surprised he hasn't tried to collect you before." Her eyes snapped open. "Oh. Oh Severus. You realize he's going to invite you to the end-of-term Slug Club dinner."

"Oh joy," Severus said dryly. As Lily laughed, Severus' hearing picked up a small scrabbling noise—and out of the corner of his eye, he saw something small and furry scurry through the leaves—

"_Stupefy_," Severus snapped out, pointing his wand behind the bench. The noise stopped.

Lily jumped off of the bench and drew her wand. "What is it? What's going on?"

Severus held up one hand. "I think I got it." He lit his wand with a flick of his wrist and shined the light into the leaves.

"What is it?" Lily repeated.

Severus' lip curled. "It's just a rat." He snatched it up and walked away from the bench.

"Please don't kill it!" Lily called after him.

Severus glanced back. "Of course not. I'm just taking it to the Forest." And he set off toward the trees.

When he was well out of earshot, he Ennervated the rat, and, holding the point of his wand against its trembling belly, said, "Listen to me, Wormtail."

The rat stilled.

"I know," Severus said, low and threatening, "that Martinius Wilkes occasionally spares a kind word for you. Perhaps, at this time, he has even extended to you an offer of a beneficial friendship to be taken up when you leave Hogwarts."

Wormtail twitched.

"If I hear," Severus said, "that you have had _any_ contact with Wilkes—or with Rosier, Avery, Mulciber, or _any_ Black other than the disowned Black the elder…"

He jabbed the rat with his wand.

"I will personally make your life a living hell." Severus paused. "Minus, of course, the 'living' aspect."

Wormtail squealed, and Severus let him fall to the ground.

* * *

Thursday and Friday brought the Transfigurations and Charms exams, respectively. Severus performed the practical portions with no problem whatsoever, and was reasonably certain that he had remembered the theory well enough to do almost as well on the written exams. He'd had a brief moment of panic when the Charms examiner, a jittery-looking old man, had asked Severus if he'd invented any spells of his own. If he demonstrated a particularly vicious combat hex, or an extremely advanced defensive spell, of his own devising, it would be to his detriment—but which of his spells would seem impressive without being unlikely—

And then Severus almost rolled his eyes when he remembered that, at sixteen, he _had_ invented a few spells of his own. Severus demonstrated _muffliato_ and _langlock_ and the instructor had seemed impressed, if a little nervous.

But that moment had reminded Severus that he'd have to be most cautious—if he displayed ability that surpassed "precocious sixteen-year-old" to the point of being uncanny, he'd draw extremely unwelcome attention to himself.

Outside of the examinations, Severus had passed the days without incident. He had managed to avoid the fifth-year Gryffindors by staying amongst the Slytherins and had managed to avoid the fifth-year Slytherins by simply refusing to be drawn into conversation with them (Rosier thought he was nervous about the NEWTs; Avery and Mulciber just thought he was an arsehole). And—he allowed himself to feel pleased—he had thoroughly resisted the temptation to follow Lily around and stare at her.

Ah, maturity.

So it was with some dread that he finished dinner on Friday with nothing but the vast emptiness of Saturday and Sunday looming before him. He had resigned himself to two days of lurking in the library—the only other students this time of year would be seventh-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs—and decided to get a head start by lingering at the Slytherin table and hiding behind the seventh-year Herbology text until everyone had left.

When the noise in the Great Hall had dwindled to a minimum, Severus snapped the book closed and stood up—only to drop back down into his seat with surprise.

"Hello," Lily said, smiling at him from across the Slytherin table.

"What—what are you doing here?" Severus said in a harsh whisper. He glanced up and down the table, but the only other students there were the first-year girls, who seemed to be making plans to get together over the summer.

Lily's face fell. "Well, if you don't want to be seen with me I can—"

Severus quickly shook his head. "No, no, that's not what—" He shook his head again. "Please, that's not what I meant. You surprised me, that's all."

Lily broke into a seemingly relieved grin. "I'm not surprised. Working hard, then?" she said, indicating the book.

"Yes. Quite. I am. Working." Severus briefly considered hitting himself in the head _with_ the book.

"Well, you've got two days to study for the next exam," Lily said brightly. "Do you need to spend the _whole_ time in the library?"

Severus leaned back and looked at her warily over the tops of his glasses. "What would the alternative be?"

Lily leaned forward over the table. "Come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow."

The heavy book slipped slightly in Severus' fingers. "I—me?"

Lily pressed her lips together, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Yes, you. Unless…you need to focus on revising?"

Severus blinked. "Well, I—I probably should be revising. Er. I still have three exams left."

"Which ones?" Lily cocked her head to the side.

"Herbology, Defence, and Potions. So," he added wryly, "only the most important ones."

"Ah," said Lily, "but also the ones you know the best." She smiled at him expectantly.

Severus exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry," he said at last, "I would love to, but—" Lily frowned. Severus hastily added, "Really. I'm—I'm honoured that you've asked me to. But I don't think it would do for me to be seen gallivanting in Hogsmeade while the seventh-years revise for their NEWTs—especially when I've been given a special dispensation to take them."

Lily smiled softly. "I suppose that makes sense," she said. "But…if it weren't for that, would you be going with me?"

"Certainly," Severus said. "As I said…" He swallowed. "I would be honoured." He repositioned the Herbology textbook in his arms, holding it loosely over his chest.

"Well, that's nice to know," Lily said, ducking her head. She glanced up and added, "I've noticed, by the way, how you've been ignoring Avery and Mulciber."

Severus shrugged.

"Well…I'm proud of you, that's all," Lily said, colouring slightly. She rose to leave, and then turned back to him. "By the way, Sev," she said. "'Gallivanting'?" She snorted, grinning, and left.

Severus dropped the book on the table, leaned over, and rested his forehead on top of it, exhaling in relief. Amazingly, he had managed to avoid making a complete fool of himself, and she had believed his explanation, which was fortunate, because somehow he doubted she'd accept "I don't want your husband from an alternate timeline to see us together, or the Dark Lord, or—worse—Dumbledore," as a reason to avoid going to Hogsmeade.

A hand suddenly came down on Severus' shoulder. He jumped, and a voice behind him chortled. "No need to be frightened, Mr Snape."

Severus sat up. "Hello, Professor," he said, looking up over his shoulder.

Slughorn beamed. "I've been in touch with my business partner," he said, "and he's willing to meet with you to discuss a possible summer position."

Severus sat up a little straighter. "That's excellent, sir. Thank you."

"Be in my office at four o'clock on Sunday," Slughorn said, and, with a barely-discernible flick of the eyes up to Severus' hairline, added, "And do try to make a good impression, Mr Snape." At that, Severus allowed the smallest sneer to appear briefly on his face.

To his surprise, Slughorn raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. "Very good," he said. "The glasses suit you, my boy." He turned and waddled off.

With a groan, Severus slumped back over onto his Herbology book.


	4. June 1976, pt 3

**Chapter Three**

**June, 1976**

In the morning, Severus attempted to again sneak out of the dungeons before anyone else was awake. He was taken quite by surprise when he flung aside the green bedcurtains to see Evan Rosier sitting, awake, on the bed opposite Severus', his face lit from underneath by his wand. "Good morning, Snapey," Rosier whispered loudly.

Severus jumped backwards, grabbing his wand out from under his pillow. "You're awake rather early," he replied at the same volume.

"Ah," Rosier said, "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, and we _proper_ fifth-years are finished with our examinations. Can't waste a day like today by sleeping through it."

"I quite agree," Severus said. "So if you'll excuse me, I'll make my morning ablutions—"

Rosier snorted. "'Ablutions'? What are you, my father?"

Severus just shrugged. "I'll be going to the toilet now. Enjoy the day in Hogsmeade, Rosier."

Severus pulled his worn dressing gown tightly around his too-bony shoulders and started to walk past Rosier toward the boys' toilets. He was unsurprised when Rosier grabbed his elbow. "Won't you be joining us in Hogsmeade, then?" Rosier asked, his voice low.

Severus shook his head. "I still have three NEWTs left. I'll be spending the next several days in the library."

"With the Hufflepuffs? _Please_." Rosier rolled his eyes.

Severus, his patience wearing thin, pulled his arm roughly from Rosier's grasp. "I don't know if you've noticed," he said, "but I'm taking examinations normally undertaken after an additional two years' study. Forgive me," he sneered, 'if I prefer to be as prepared as possible."

Rosier, his ghoulishly lit expression oddly one of satisfaction, nodded. "See you around, then."

"Quite." Severus stalked off to the lavatory.

He managed to avoid the other Slytherins throughout his early breakfast (which consisted of far too many sausages—Merlin, he was hungry _all the time_) and narrowly managed to skirt the incoming group of fifth-year Gryffindors as they crossed paths in the Entrance Hall (the only one to notice him was Wormtail, who visibly paled when Severus met his eye and feinted towards his wand). As Severus had predicted, the Library was deserted, save for a few seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws—tradition called for Gryffindors to put off revising until it was time for all-night revision sessions, while the Slytherins preferred to stay in their nicely-appointed dormitories where they could a) share notes, and b) sabotage each others' notes (Severus had not been invited).

Severus set himself up in a corner of the library behind a wall of advanced Potions, Herbology, and Defence texts and proceeded to think.

The problem did not lie in brushing up on his Potions and Defence knowledge—that notion was laughable. Rather, Severus' main concern was that it would become obvious that he was far _too_ knowledgeable about his pet subjects. If he went in there, wand a-blazing, using spells he'd refined and techniques he'd invented in his twenty years as a Potions Master, well—

Someone was bound to notice.

So Severus set about calculating exactly how he'd need to perform on the examinations.

He'd need to do exceptionally well, but within reason. He would have to show that he was capable of coming up with innovative procedures, without demonstrating any that would be outside the abilities of an outstandingly precocious teenager. And he'd have to keep in mind what he'd learned as a child at Hogwarts, and what he'd learned as an apprentice, and what techniques he'd learned outside of England that a 16-year-old halfblood from Manchester wouldn't've even _seen_…

Severus drew out a scrap piece of parchment and began to scribble:

_What not to do_

_Ptns techniques devlpd p-1976_

_Dfnc spells self designed_

_ANYTHING DARK_

_Non-Engl Ptns techs (which are?)_

_Probably can_

_Wordless all_

_Wandless some_

_Wordless and wandless BASIC defence spells (ex shield yes, ptrnus no)_

_Anyth did in orig tests (personal recipe yes)_

Severus looked over his list and added "_bloody FLY_" to the "What not to do" list.

Sighing, he drew out another piece of parchment and began to sketch a timeline of recent—or future—developments in Potions, making care to note which new techniques and theories he might be inclined to utilise during the exam.

On a separate parchment, he listed, in approximate chronological order, the spells and Potions he had personally invented. He drew a thick black line on the page at the point where his inventions had been made well after he'd finished his Hogwarts education.

On a fourth piece, he drew a vertical line and under two headers—"English" and "other"—he listed several of his more commonly-used brewing techniques. This was the area in which he knew he was most likely to slip. He'd done his Mastery under a Bulgarian wizard, and although the closest the man had come to actually _instructing_ Severus had been to demand a higher quantity of stock potions (Severus still had nightmares that included the phrase "Ve vill need at least sreedozen more of thees"), Severus had still picked up a few techniques just from watching Master Rotislavic brew the occasional complex potion. After twenty years, they'd become as much a part of his repertoire as the skills he'd learned from Horace Slughorn—but they would certainly look odd to an Anglocentric examiner.

Severus read his four lists. He read them again. Then he lit them on fire_, _Vanished the smoke and the ashes, and proceeded to write them all out again on fresh parchment.

He repeated this until his guidelines were imprinted firmly in his memory, and then he did it one more time.

The day passed more quickly than he'd expected.

At dinner—he'd missed lunch, and his sixteen-year-old's body was letting him know it—he sat in silence while Avery and Mulciber related with glee their expedition into the Hog's Head ("it's a total slum, but that disgusting old barman actually served us Firewhiskey") and Rosier continued his too-close examination of Severus' reactions (thank Merlin for tinted glasses). As soon as he'd inhaled enough food to satisfy his body's demands, Severus left the table without a word, fled to the dungeons, and read his Herbology textbook behind heavily-spelled bedcurtains until he fell asleep.

In the morning, he left his sleeping dormmates before the sun was up, snagged a quick, solitary breakfast in the Great Hall—the only other occupants were a pair of seventh-year Ravenclaws—and skulked off to the library.

He had just secured himself behind his wall of books when he heard a most unwelcome clearing of the throat. Severus glanced up to see the Head Boy—a Hufflepuff whose name escaped him—standing across from Severus, his hands flat on the table. "It's Snape, isn't it?" the boy said.

Severus raised an eyebrow in response.

"You're the fifth-year who's taking the NEWTs, right?"

Severus leaned back and crossed his arms.

Visibly flustered, the boy tried again. "Are you revising for tomorrow's Herbology exam?"

Severus indicated the Herbology texts with one hand.

The Hufflepuff shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Well, we're having a revision session as soon as everyone gets here. You're welcome to join us."

Severus could think of any number of things he'd rather do than join a Hufflepuff review session—especially when his knowledge of the subjects might draw unwanted attention. In response, he leaned forward. The Hufflepuff took a tiny step back. Severus smiled. "No," he said, "thank you."

"All right then," the boy said, taking a few more steps backward. "We'll be—we're over there. If you change your mind."

Severus snorted. "Unlikely."

The Hufflepuff made a hasty retreat to the other side of the room, where Severus clearly heard him say, "No. Wilkes was right. That kid _is_ an arsehole."

Satisfied, Severus cracked open a seventh-year Herbology book and settled down to read.

* * *

Lunch came and went—Avery and Mulciber seemed to have given up on conversing with Severus, although Rosier still, unfortunately, seemed tobe observing him far too closely—and before long, the hour of Severus' appointment in Slughorn's office had drawn near. Remembering with dark humour Slughorn's none-too-subtle recommendation that he make himself "presentable," Severus went back to the dungeons and threw on a clean set of school robes, charmed the lint off of them, and, just before running out of the dormitory, made quick use of Mulciber's comb. (There might have still been a few snarls on the back of his head, but they were difficult to reach, and Severus somehow doubted anything could improve his appearance enough to make a difference. If Slughorn's associate wanted an _attractive_ stockboy, then no amount of hair-combing would convince him to take on Severus.)

Severus climbed the stairs to Slughorn's office, paused briefly to gather himself, and knocked smartly on the door at precisely four o'clock.

"Come in," called Slughorn from within, and Severus swung open the door.

Sitting stiffly on one of Slughorn's overplush chairs was a man whose face seemed extraordinarily familiar to Severus, but whom he couldn't recall having ever actually met. The man was older, though not quite as old as Slughorn, with longish greying hair pulled back neatly in a low knot. He was thin, and dressed in simple black robes, and although it was hard to gauge exactly since the man was sitting, Severus gathered he was quite tall—most likely an inch or two above Severus' adult height.

"Hello, Severus," Slughorn said jovially from his position behind his desk. "Arsenius, may I present Severus Snape, the young man I was telling you about. Severus, I believe you are familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger."

Severus' heart clenched. That's how he'd recognized the man—from his much-younger photo in Defence and Potions periodicals. The man was notoriously reclusive but equally prolific, having been responsible for a many of the most important field developments in the 20th century. In fact, Severus' own Mastery work—a potion designed to increase a subject's susceptibility to Veritaserum (and, unofficially, Legilimency)—had been greatly influenced by Jigger's work in combat potions. Truthfully, Severus' whole career had been greatly influenced by Jigger's work—the man was without a doubt the leading expert in the dual area.

But Severus had never met him as a student, and by the time he had begun to accumulate enough credibility as a potioneer to feel justified in contacting him professionally, Jigger had died.

So Severus was being entirely genuine when he stepped forward, extended a hand, and said, "It's an honour to meet you, Master Jigger. I've admired your work for years."

Jigger nodded brusquely and allowed Severus to shake his hand, though he didn't rise. Slughorn indicated that Severus should take the other seat; Severus sat down.

"Arsenius here is my partner in the Diagon Alley apothecary," Slughorn said. "I'm sure you're familiar with Slug & Jigger's?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Arsenius here has just lost his shop boy," Slughorn announced. "As unaccustomed as he is to, shall we say, customer service—"

He shot a sideways grin at Jigger, who raised an eyebrow in return.

"—he's looking for someone to man the shop while he brews the more intricate potions for sale."

"I don't pay much," Jigger said abruptly. His voice was low and gravelly. "But I understand you're more in need of lodging than of employment, and there's a small flat above the shop that's perfectly serviceable."

"That sounds agreeable, sir," Severus said. "What is it I would be expected to do?"

"Sell the stock. Offer advice to those who can't tell aconite from asphodel. Attempt to be…pleasant to the shop's patrons."

At this, Slughorn focused his attention on Severus. "Can you do that?"

Severus fought the urge to scowl, and was once more grateful for his glasses. "Yes," he said.

Jigger glanced from Slughorn back to Severus. "Can you?" he repeated.

Annoyed, Severus decided to put on his best Pureblood-at-the-Party mannerisms. "Certainly, sir," he said silkily, bowing slightly in his chair. "It would be an absolute pleasure." Recalling Lucius Malfoy, he put his hand over his heart and lowered his head.

Slughorn blinked. "All right, then," he said at last. "Now, Arsenius—you recall that young Severus here is currently in the midst of taking his NEWTs."

"I recall, Horace."

Slughorn beamed. "Right. Two years early, in fact!"

"I am aware," Jigger said blandly, "of young Mr Snape's age."

"So," Slughorn continued, "he'll be receiving his results in mid-July."

"And?" Jigger said.

"And…" Slughorn rolled his eyes. "Tell the boy what you told me."

Jigger huffed, and turned to face Severus. "Young man," he said, "I am not in the habit of taking on apprentices."

Severus nodded. It was true—as far as Severus was aware, the man had never taken an apprentice.

"I find most seventeen-year-olds to be unsuitable workers with insufferably immature attitudes," Jigger continued. "And I cannot tolerate children in my working space."

Severus suppressed a smirk. Neither could he.

"However." Jigger shot a glance at Slughorn, who smiled. "Horace has impressed upon me that you are a most…unusual student, who may, he believes, somehow be up to my scrutiny. However unlikely that may be."

When Severus said nothing, Jigger continued, "If I find that improbable scenario to be the case, then, once we have received your NEWT results, we may negotiate an apprenticeship."

Severus leaned forward in his chair. "Thank you, sir."

Jigger eyed him narrowly. "Do not take this lightly, young man. My standards are very high and you will more likely fail to live up to them than not."

Slughorn _tsk_ed. "Don't be so negative, Arsenius. I assure you, Severus' work ethic is excellent and his brewing is inspired."

Severus inclined his head towards Slughorn. "Thank you, sir."

Slughorn waved a hand in dismissal. "I only speak the truth. So, Severus. Will you take the position?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, thank you. It would be an honour to work with you, Master Jigger."

Jigger snorted. "Please refrain from flattery. It's unimpressive."

"I only meant—" Severus stopped short when he noticed Slughorn shaking his head. Severus swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Slughorn smiled. "Well, that's settled then. Severus, when you leave here at the end of next week, you'll be going to the apothecary. Doubtlessly Arsenius will put you to work right away, but ah! That is what you wanted, is it not?" Severus opened his mouth to reply, but Slughorn simply waved him away. "Off with you, then! I'm sure you'll want to be sharing the good news with all your…with somebody."

"Thank you, Professor. Thank you, Master Jigger. It will be—" Severus stopped himself in time. "Good evening, sirs." He bowed slightly and walked through the door, which closed behind him.

Severus leaned against the corridor wall, exhaling slowly. He was annoyed that he'd let himself become so flustered—evidently, the presence of his academic idol (not to mention the opportunity to actually _learn_ from the man—Merlin!) was enough to turn him into the awkward sixteen-year-old boy he was purported to be.

Which, to be honest, was at least helpful in maintaining his deception.

Severus had absolutely no doubt that he'd perform excellently in his NEWTs, and even less doubt that he'd be an exemplary apprentice—after all, what could a Potions Master want more than an apprentice who already knew all the techniques? Severus had never, himself, taken an apprentice—he saw quite enough of the dunderheaded students in their seven years at Hogwarts and had no desire to add another four years beyond _that_—but he could only assume that the less actual _teaching_ involved, the better (Merlin knew Master Rotislavic had been far more interested in getting cheap labour from Severus than actually instructing him).

Instead, he and Jigger could focus on developing new methods and potions in the often-neglected field of combat potioneering—together. This was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. In fact—Severus smirked to himself—it was a once-in-_two_-lifetimes opportunity.

So it was with uncharacteristically high spirits that Severus climbed the stairs up to the Great Hall for dinner. His spirits were so high, in fact, that he neglected to properly skulk through the Entrance Hall and wound up face-to-face with perf—Lily Evans.

"Oh, hello, Sev," she said, smiling brightly. "Been revising hard?"

Severus swallowed and took a step back. "Oh. Yes. Quite."

"You seem…happy, dare I say," Lily said, prodding his arm teasingly. "And—don't take this the wrong way, but you seem a lot taller when you don't, er, hunch over so much."

Severus scowled and tried to assume the poor posture that had been his standard as a child, but Lily just laughed at him. "Don't!" she said, resting her hand on his arm. "It's…nice." Her damnably emerald eyes shone up at him and Severus felt something unpleasant squirm into his lower intestine (what _did_ they feed the students back in the '70s?).

It was, of course, at that moment that Potter and his entourage—minus Lupin—wheeled into the Hall. Severus struggled briefly to keep his face neutral before he made the happy realization that it would be far more noticeable if he _didn't_ sneer and say, "Wonderful. Potter and his cronies."

Which he did.

Lily squeezed his arm. "Don't let them get to you, Sev," she said.

"What's this, then?" Black said, strolling up behind her. "Snivellus, you really need to stop begging girls to talk to you. It's _pathetic_."

"Black. Potter." Severus turned toward Wormtail. "Pettigrew," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables. Wormtail flinched. Severus suppressed a smile. "Where's your pet—" He stopped suddenly. "…prefect?"

"Oh, he's around," Black said, waving his hand laconically.

"He's somewhere that _isn't here_," Potter said. "Maybe you should join him?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Knock it off, you lot. You're not funny."

"Sure we are!" Potter replied. "We're terribly funny, all of us. Aren't we funny, Pete?"

Wormtail, an eye on Severus, simply nodded wordlessly.

"See?" Potter said. "Pete can't even _talk_ for how funny we are."

Lily seemed to be fighting a smile. Severus felt his face warm. Before he could stop himself, he spat out, "Pettigrew can't talk because he's a worthless excuse for a human being, not because he's struck dumb by your wit, which is, incidentally, nonexistent."

"Well that was unkind," Black said, stepping in front of the blinking Pettigrew. "I don't think you should speak to people that way, Snivellus."

"You really should be more polite," Potter chimed in. They both made a show of not quite reaching for their wands.

Severus suddenly felt a presence to his right. He glanced over and saw that he had been joined by Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery, who had apparently decided that it fell to them to perform the role of back-up in this adolescent drama.

"Piss off, Potter," Avery said. "And take the girl with you."

"Excuse me?" Lily repeated, eyebrows raised. "'The girl' will not be 'taken' _anywhere_."

Severus suppressed a sigh. "Perhaps it's best you go ahead inside," he said. It wouldn't do for Lily to witness any more of his irrationally childish responses to Potter's provocations.

Instead of agreeing sensibly, Lily placed a hand on her hip, a mulish expression on her ange—face. "You can't tell me you _agree_ with him?" she demanded, jerking her head towards Avery.

"I only said that it might be best if you leave this idiocy behind and take your seat for dinner," Severus said reasonably.

With that, Lily threw up her hands. "'Idiocy'?" she repeated. "Oh, _thanks_."

Severus blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know I'm not smart enough to sit my NEWTs yet," Lily said, her face reddening, "but there's no need to insult me." She turned and headed towards the Great Hall.

Severus cursed mentally and called after her, "That's not at all what I—"

Lily didn't turn around as she called back, "Save it. I'm not interested."

Potter the arsehole flipped Severus a grin and dashed after her. Black smiled nastily and flipped Severus two fingers, and dashed after Potter. Pettigrew scurried after them, refusing to look in Severus' direction.

Merlin.

"Tough luck, Snape," Rosier said, clapping his hand down tightly on Severus' right shoulder. "Guess you'll have to find yourself a new Mudblood."

Severus, without thinking, switched his wand into his non-dominant hand and, his hand wrapped around it in a fist, swung upwards and then straight down, driving the blunt end of his wand onto Rosier's knuckles. Rosier shrieked—rather, satisfyingly, like a little girl—and snatched his hand away. Severus flipped his grip on his wand and, whirling around to face the boy head on, pointed it at him.

"What the bloody _fuck_ is wrong with you?" Rosier said, clutching his hand to his chest, gasping.

"Not on," Mulciber said, shaking his head. "Not on at all." Avery stared, open-mouthed.

"Do not," Severus spat, "use that word in my presence."

"Since when?" Avery recovered enough from his shock to demand.

Severus twitched his wand in Avery's direction. "Right now."

Rosier was studying his hand—from what Severus could tell, it seemed to be fine, minus the growing red blotch that would most likely develop into an ugly bruise. That was fine by Severus—such a bruise would not be the ugliest thing to ever mark the skin on Rosier's left arm.

Rosier massaged his hand lightly and, finally, looked up to glare at Severus. "I don't know what the fuck you're playing at," he said at last. "But it's not fucking funny."

"I'm not _fucking_ joking," Severus said lightly, and then he let his wand drop. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I find I have no desire to join you for dinner this evening." Listening closely for any sudden movements from the trio of fifth-year Slytherins, Severus turned around and shouldered his way through a group of students, heading toward the dungeons.

Nobody stopped him.


	5. June 1976, pt 4

A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews!

* * *

**Chapter Four  
****June, 1976**

Severus nearly bowled over a pair of second-year girls as he stormed through the Slytherin Common Room and down the stairs to the fifth-year boys' dormitory. The door slammed satisfyingly behind him and Severus allowed himself the dramatics of throwing his satchel onto the stone floor and throwing himself onto his four-poster.

And then, since he was already apparently trapped in some sort of low-budget teenaged melodrama, he grabbed his pillow, covered his face with it, and groaned in frustration.

The door suddenly flew open and Severus pointed his wand at it. He sat up and let the pillow fall into his lap.

Marty Wilkes was standing in the doorway, scowling. "I don't know what sort of petty personal issues you're dealing with, Snape," he said, crossing his arms. "And frankly I don't care. But _some of us_ have our NEWTs tomorrow, and _some of us_ won't be getting a second chance at them. So please." Wilkes affected an exaggeratedly fake smile. "Do try to resist acting like the child that you are and kindly _shut the hell up_."

Severus scowled and gave into the temptation to throw his pillow at Wilkes, but it simply bounced harmlessly off of the newly-closed door.

Severus fell back onto the pillow-less mattress and closed his eyes.

He could not believe how monumentally he had erred. Not only had he severely misspoken and given Lily cause for offence—in retrospect, it was obvious how ill she would take to a (so undeservedly) superior attitude (who did he think he was to tell Lily Evans what to do?). And what kind of idiot was he to so poorly choose his words that the most brilliant woman he'd ever known believed he was insulting her intelligence?

Severus pulled his glasses off his face, tossed them on the bed next to his head, and jammed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.

And then he'd gone and drawn attention to himself in a worse way than he had yet considered possible. Rosier—who, admittedly, had probably known him better as a teenager than anybody else at this damned school—had already been suspicious of the change in Severus' behaviour, and now Severus had physically attacked the boy for utilizing a word that he himself had all too publically bandied about by this time—

Severus groaned again, albeit more quietly.

It was, really, all Potter's fault. If that son of a crup hadn't already shoved him off the cliff of juvenile irrationality, Severus would have simply ignored Rosier and headed into dinner. In fact, if Potter hadn't shown up in the first place, Severus might be taking Lily on a walk around the lake _right now_—

Severus quickly shook his head, hopping off of that train of thought before it progressed any further. He'd already been the unwitting participant in more than one rather uncouth dream (one of which had unpleasantly caused him to remember one of the less hygienic and more potentially humiliating facets of adolescence) and he had no intention of allowing his conscious mind to provide more fodder for his unconscious. It was… not right.

Not for Lily.

So Severus' tasks were twofold. He had to somehow smooth over the…well, the stabbing incident (it wasn't a proper _stabbing_—nothing had been punctured, as he'd been driving down the base end of his wand—but, well), and he had to apologise to Lily.

The former was undoubtedly the more important, but Severus knew it was the latter that would prey upon his conscience.

Voices in the corridor grew in volume. The door handle turned and Severus quickly spelled his bedcurtains closed, Charming them for privacy.

Eventually he fell asleep.

* * *

It was only years of habit that woke Severus at an early hour, as his curtains were still spelled for silence and there was, naturally, no growing sunlight to speak of in the dungeon rooms. But Severus still managed to wake before any of his dormmates and, feeling particularly surly, indulged his melancholy one last time by choosing to eschew his morning shower—who cared, after all, what his hair looked like, and it wasn't as though one shower ever made a difference anyway—and skulking out of his dormitory wearing yesterday's wrinkled, slept-in robes. (He did, at least, wipe the smears off his glasses.)

He breakfasted with the seventh-years (to their obvious distaste). He had intended to revise his copious Herbology notes one last time but, he realized with a pang of annoyance, must have neglected to place them in his satchel before fleeing the dungeons. Instead, he nursed his single cup of tea with an immense focus.

The written exam was uneventful; although Severus did not, in fact, remember in minute detail every single plant discussed therein, the ample time he had had for revision had equipped him with more than a glancing knowledge of each. Fortunately, he was able to make up for his only basic knowledge of some plants by his extensive knowledge of others' uses in Potions and Healing. All in all, he was rather confident of an O.

Lunch brought two rather unwelcome surprises. In his efforts to avoid Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery until such a time as he judged their tempers to have cooled, he did not adequately conceal himself from passing Gryffindors. He only barely managed to avoid a repeat of last night's not-stabbing incident when someone edged into his corner of the Entrance Hall and tapped him smartly on the shoulder.

Severus whirled around to discover, much to his surprise, Remus Lupin.

"Hello," the werewolf said. "Might I have a word?"

Severus, seeing that the boy was quite alone, crossed his arms. "Have it," he said.

Lupin sighed. "With a bit more privacy, perhaps?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "_Muffliato_," he muttered with a flick of his wand.

Lupin's eyes widened. "Does that do what it sounds like?"

Severus cursed inwardly—of course, that particular spell hadn't found its way into common Hogwarts usage until well into his seventh year. But there was nothing for it now. "Quite," he said.

"Very nice," Lupin said earnestly.

Severus stared at him.

"Right, then," Lupin said, visibly steeling himself. "Look. Snape. I was here last night, before dinner."

"Imagine," said Severus dryly. "In the Entrance Hall, before a scheduled meal."

"Yes, well." Lupin rolled his eyes. "Thank you. I mean I saw what happened with you and Rosier."

"So did a lot of people." Severus leaned against the wall, a posture of indifference.

"Will you _listen_ to me?" Lupin said, annoyance finally visible on his young face. "I also _heard_ what happened with you and Rosier."

Severus flushed. He had no idea how close Lupin had been standing—he hadn't even seen him enter the room—and he had no idea if the rumours of werewolves' superior hearing were fact, but it was clear from Lupin's damnably earnest expression that the boy was not bluffing. "Really," he said.

"Yes, _really_." Lupin cocked his head to one side. "So. Given our history, and what I rather thought were your politics, I thought it prudent to ask you…"

"Yes, what?" Severus snapped.

Lupin smiled crookedly. "What exactly are you playing at, Snape?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Severus said. He turned to leave, but Lupin caught his elbow in a surprisingly steely grip.

"Ah, but I'm sure you do," Lupin said softly. "And I'd like to know, as I said, what exactly you're playing at."

Severus succeeded in tearing his arm from Lupin's hand. "What do you care?" he sneered.

"Well," Lupin said calmly, "a certain dear friend and fellow Prefect of mine has shown a rather…optimistic willingness to accept your apparent…change of heart. And honestly, at first I thought you just wanted back into her good graces. But—but last night went far beyond trying to impress a girl. And I," Lupin said, drawing himself up to his (frankly unimpressive) full height, "would like to know _why_."

"Don't tell me you've decided to give Potter some competition for the lady's heart," Severus said nastily.

Lupin snorted. "Hardly. Lily is a _friend_, Snape. That may be a foreign concept to you—"

Severus rolled his eyes and started past Lupin, who simply stepped sideways and blocked him with his shoulder. "Sorry," Lupin said. "That wasn't exactly where I'd meant to go with this conversation. But… Jesus, you don't make it easy, do you?"

Severus sighed. "Carry on with it, then, Lupin."

"Yes. Well. I'll return to my original question. _What are you playing at?_"

Severus took a step backwards so that he could face Lupin head-on. Staring him down from behind tinted glass, Severus said, "I'm leaving Hogwarts next week."

Lupin shrugged. "So I hear."

"What do you imagine the employment prospects are for a sixteen-year-old wizard from working-class Manchester?" Severus asked blandly.

Lupin looked thoughtful. "Go on."

"And if that sixteen-year-old is known to hold controversial—nay, in some circles, _offensive_ politics—especially when selfsame sixteen-year-old has not the social background to keep him above reproach…"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Do you," he continued, "imagine that his employment prospects improve at all in that scenario?"

Lupin nodded. "No," he said, "I don't suppose they do." Lupin held out a hand. "I must confess, I didn't really expect a straight answer from you," he said, "so. Thank you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

Lupin sighed. "Very well then." He returned his hand to his pocket and turned towards the Entrance Hall.

"But Lupin."

The words had escaped before Severus could stop himself, and he cursed himself mentally while Lupin turned back around. "Yes?" the werewolf said.

Since Severus had already spoken, there was nothing for it. "Lily _is_ my friend," he said quietly.

Lupin, to Severus' surprise, simply nodded. "I'm well aware of that," he replied. And then he continued into the Great Hall.

Severus was still processing the interaction as he finished his lunch at the farthest end of the Slytherin table (several places down from the nearest student), which was when he encountered the second unwelcome surprise of the afternoon—Slughorn caught his eye and beckoned him over to the Head Table, which Severus did with no small amount of trepidation, having assumed that Rosier (or another Prefect) must have reported last night's incident.

Strangely, Slughorn didn't so much as acknowledge the tussle, and instead greeted Severus with, "Good afternoon, Severus. I trust today's exams are going well?"

"Yes, sir," Severus said.

"Did you…have a rough night?" Slughorn said, suddenly frowning.

"No, sir," Severus replied evenly. "I went to bed rather early, in fact."

"Hmm." Slughorn leaned forward over the table and said quietly, "I do hope you plan to maintain a higher standard of, er, personal hygiene once you enter the professional world, Mr Snape."

Severus flushed. "Merely the stress of exams, sir," he said.

"Naturally, naturally," Slughorn said more loudly, leaning back. "So I'll push back my invitation to, say, six-thirty? That should give you time enough to freshen up."

"Your invitation, sir?" Severus repeated.

"Ah, yes," Slughorn said merrily. "We still have a few details about your employment to discuss, and I thought it best to do so over dinner. Would you care to join me for a spot of supper in my office this evening?"

Severus glanced back to the Slytherin table, where Rosier et al were still sending him death glares, and didn't glance back at the Gryffindor table, where nothing of true import could possibly be happening.

"I'd be delighted, sir," Severus replied.

"Good, good. Six-thirty, then." Slughorn beamed and waved him off.

Severus retreated to his place at the table, skirting carefully around a certain contingent of Slytherins, and hoping it wouldn't be terribly obvious.

The practical examination went almost as smoothly as the written—although there was one particularly ferocious snargaluff, Severus dealt with it swiftly and sternly and had no further problems during the test. Madame Marchbanks even commended him for his gentle harvesting technique, remarking, "Excellent—any potioneer would be happy to receive such well-handled ingredients."

As Severus well knew, of course.

Once the exam was over—Severus was confident of a high score—he fled back down to the dungeons to shower and throw on fresh robes (the unlucky Mulciber once more unknowingly lending Severus his comb). With no small amount of dread, he mounted the steps to Slughorn's office. The door was open, so Severus cleared his throat and said, "Professor?"

Slughorn, who was fussing with a tray on the table in the corner, waved him in. "Come in, come in," he said. "The house elves just delivered our dinner—looks smashing—have a seat!"

Severus drew up one of Slughorn's armchairs and attempted to balance on the front edge of the seat (or else risk being swallowed by the upholstery). "Thank you for inviting me, sir," he said as he sat.

"Not at all, not at all," Slughorn replied absently. "As I said, I wanted to discuss your forthcoming not-yet-apprenticeship with you." He winked at Severus. Severus stared back.

"Now," Slughorn said, taking his seat and lifting his fork, "it has come to my attention that you have not yet had your seventeenth birthday."

Given that he was in his _fifth_ year at Hogwarts, Severus had rather thought that was obvious, but he simply nodded and said, "Yes, sir. I'll come of age next January."

"Yes, yes." Slughorn took a bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. "So," he said, cutting into his meat, "we may have been a bit hasty in arranging for you to take up at the shop."

Severus' eyes flew open behind his glasses. "Sir?"

Slughorn patted his mouth delicately with his napkin. "Don't misunderstand, I'm certain it can still be worked out," he said. "But we will need your guardian's permission, since you're a minor yet."

Severus felt a wave of relief. "Oh, sir," he said. "I thought that was all taken care of."

"I'm sorry?"

Severus drummed his long fingers on the edge of the table. "Well, as you know, my…mother recently passed away."

Slughorn lowered his fork. "Yes, Severus," he said. "I do believe that has come up in conversation."

"Yes, well," Severus said quietly, shooting a glance at the open office door, "I'm not sure if you're aware, but my father was, ah…not a wizard."

"'Was,' you say?" Slughorn repeated blandly.

"_Is_ not a wizard," Severus corrected. "Although, since it has been many years since the man has been anything like a father to me, perhaps it might be most accurate to say that the man who _was_ my father _is_ not…as I've said."

Slughorn set his fork down. "Do go on."

"And I'm sure you also know," Severus continued, "that my mother was the last of the Princes, as her last remaining aunt passed away some five years ago."

Slughorn nodded, and Severus continued, "So, as I'm sure you're aware, given my near-majority and my lack of a Wizarding relative, all the permission I'll need…is from the institution currently acting _in loco parentis_." Severus smiled wryly. "And, as my Head of House, that would be…you, sir."

Slughorn folded his hands over his stomach. "Well done, Severus," he said. "I do believe you are correct." He regarded Severus for a moment longer, and then added, "Of course, once you've left school, you'll need someone to act nominally in the same way until you've had your birthday, but—" He waved his hand dismissively. "—I'll speak with Arsenius about that. It should be a simple contractual agreement that names him as your guardian until such a time as you reach seventeen or your relationship changes to that of master and apprentice." Slughorn winked. "Whichever comes first."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now," Slughorn said, picking up his fork and gesturing with it, "regarding the specifics of your employment at the shop. I hope you don't mind that I've taken the liberty of negotiating on your behalf, as Arsenius can be somewhat…unyielding."

That was an…interesting idea, since Severus knew that Slughorn was, in fact, at least part-owner in the shop and therefore somewhat less than unbiased regarding its finances, but there was nothing that he could truly do about it. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Not at all, not at all. So. As an interim summer employee, you will be given room and board—the flat, as Arsenius said, is above the shop, and Arsenius' housekeeper will be by weekly to replenish its larder—as well as a small stipend to cover your other living expenses." Slughorn paused, and added, "Your work clothes will be provided for you."

Although, frankly, he didn't really care, Severus decided it prudent to ask, "The stipend, sir?"

"Ah, yes," Slughorn said. "As I say, it's quite small—just enough to cover a few incidentals, as your room and board are taken care of—but, well. Three Galleons a week, which you'll receive Fridays."

"Three Galleons, sir?" Severus repeated. Really, that seemed more than fair. If he were in the position to hire a shop boy the lad would be lucky to get _one_.

"I know, I know, it isn't much," Slughorn said. "Believe me, I tried to talk Arsenius up—he seemed to be under the impression that you'd be lucky to receive _one_ Galleon a week!"

Severus rather suspected he'd like Master Jigger.

"And I told him," Slughorn continued, tapping the table with one pudgy finger, "that no prize student of mine would go to work on elf wages."

"Thank you, sir," Severus said, eyebrows raised.

"Certainly." Slughorn beamed. "Now, the shop is open Tuesday through Sunday, ten to six, and naturally you'll be in charge of straightening up the shop and ordering supplies, and so forth. Arsenius will go through all the details with you next week, of course."

"And I suppose brewing time will be negotiated should I be taken on as an apprentice?" Severus asked.

Slughorn tapped the side of his nose. "Exactly."

That was much as Severus expected. Really, the more he thought about it, the more his respect for Jigger grew—Merlin knew Severus wouldn't allow a boy with unproven qualifications to touch a thing in _his_ laboratory. Once his brewing abilities had been established, though, Jigger would surely be happy to have his assistance.

"Now, on that subject," Slughorn said after another bite, "I also wanted to speak with you about Arsenius."

Severus nodded, and Slughorn continued, "He is…well, what I've understood from the recent Hogwarts graduates he's had manning the shop over the last decade, Arsenius can be…demanding."

Severus shrugged. "He has every right to be."

"Quite right, quite right," Slughorn said. "But he's very particular about the shop, and certainly about the stockroom and laboratory. You see, about ten years ago, we lost the shop manager, who had been running it since we bought the damned thing. And Arsenius, perhaps unfairly, has the regrettable tendency to hold his young employees to that same high standard."

"The shop manager, sir?" Severus repeated.

"My sister," Slughorn said. "She passed away—rather young for a witch—only seventy! It was a hard blow for all of us."

"My condolences, sir."

Slughorn waved him off. "Thank you, Severus, but we carry on. Except, as I say, for Arsenius' insistence that the shop be run exactly as it was when Hortencia was there to do it. So, my advice to you is this—be patient."

"Certainly, sir," Severus replied easily.

"I cannot stress this enough," Slughorn said, suddenly serious. "It may very well be a struggle for you—but I am certain you recognise the importance of maintaining such an advantageous relationship."

"Absolutely." Severus wasn't daft. Why would he ever endanger an opportunity to study under Arsenius Jigger?

"Yes, I'm sure it goes without saying." Slughorn lifted his fork once more and, a surprised expression flitting across his round face, said, "Why, Severus, I've hardly given you a moment to eat! Please, I insist, you must at least sample each dish—the elves prepare a bit richer fare for me than for the Great Hall; it's not to be missed."

Severus, who had been eyeing the glistening gravy warily, did as he was told.

* * *

In what seemed to be becoming a habit for Severus, he braced himself for battle before pushing open the door to his dormitory. Rosier, Avery, and Mulciber were there, reclining all-too-casually on their respective beds, and much to Severus' surprise, greeted him as he walked in.

"Hello," Mulciber said. "We missed you at dinner."

Eerily, Avery smiled.

"I ate in Slughorn's office," Severus said, seeing no reason to dissemble. He walked over to his bed and, behind his back, flicked his wand at it, silently running through his standard list of detection spells. It didn't seem to have been tampered with. He guardedly sat down.

His three dormmates were still watching him, Rosier with a particularly suspicious smirk. "Did your exam go well?" Rosier asked, rubbing the bruise on the top of his hand.

"Yes, quite," Severus said.

This was surreal.

"Good," Avery chimed in. "We're glad to hear it."

This time, Mulciber smiled.

"Right." Severus wasn't going to play whatever game the three of them had decided they were playing, so he simply said, "Good night, then," and closed his bedcurtains.

Right before he put up his privacy spells, he heard Mulciber mutter, "Good luck with your revision tomorrow."

Rosier hushed him.


	6. June 1976, pt 5

**Chapter Five  
****June, 1976**

The morning before his Defence NEWT, Severus awoke to an eerie stillness in his dormitory. Assuming he had been somewhat…overzealous with his silencing charms, he shrugged off the strangeness and swept out of the room towards the toilets.

The dormitory was still silent when he returned from showering, and Severus exercised great caution when scooping up his satchel, which…come to think of it…

Severus knelt down. He tore open his unusually lightweight bag and peered inside. It was entirely empty, save for three quills, two inkpots, and a sheaf—blank—of parchment.

His eyes swept his bedside table and the floor next to and under his bed. His trunk, he knew, had not been tampered with—one of the umpteen alarm spells on it would've alerted him if it had been—but there was no denying it; his Herbology, Defence, and Potions books—and notes—had all disappeared.

"Missing something, Snapey?"

Severus, still crouching, whirled around. Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery were all awake, and each watching him with varying degrees of cruel amusement. Rosier, who had (of course) spoken, was (overly) casually toying with his wand, while Avery smirked from the next bed over.

"My notes," Severus said at last. "And my books. Where are they?"

Avery _tsk_ed. "Losing your books right before your NEWTs? Not very bright at all."

Rosier nodded, and frowned. "Oh, no," he said softly. "It's only your most important exams left, too, isn't it?"

Of course. Severus successfully fought the sudden urge to laugh. This was their big revenge? Salazar Slytherin must be spinning in his tomb at the thought that _this_ was the most nefarious plot his scions could contrive.

Granted, if he _had_ been sixteen years old, and genuinely attempting to take his NEWTs on just five years of schooling, missing his Potions and Defence textbooks and notes just days before the exams would be enough to throw a large hex into his plans. But, as is?

Ha.

So Severus scowled and stood up, drawing himself up to his full height, as his hands shook just ever so. "Give them to me," he said.

Rosier shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know where they are," he said. "Do you recall where you were when you last saw them?"

"Check the lost and found," Mulciber suggested unhelpfully.

"I don't know," Avery said. "Sometimes lost books tend to find their way to, oh, the _bottom of the lake_."

The three boys smiled nastily at Severus, who sneered, grabbed up his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and stalked out of the room.

Just before he slammed the door behind him, he heard Rosier call out, "We'll save your bed for you for next year, Snapey."

Severus delighted in frightening the few students awake at such an early hour as he stormed through the Slytherin Common Room and up the many flights of stairs to the library, where he snatched up all the seventh-year Defence and Potions texts he could find and barricaded himself behind a stack of them. Anyone who saw him would be sure to note how furiously he scribbled page after page of notes—

And, hopefully, report what they'd seen back to his fellow fifth-year Slytherins, so that they might be satisfied with their oh-so-clever child's retribution.

He was shortly joined (at a distance, of course) by a somewhat smaller group of seventh-year Hufflepuffs than usual, as the Care of Magical Creatures NEWT was scheduled for that morning. Lunch came, and went, and the afternoon saw fewer Ravenclaws and more Hufflepuffs as the students took their Astronomy examination.

At some point, Severus switched from "I'm feverishly rewriting all my notes" to "I'm feverishly reading all these Defence textbooks," which was really "I'm feverishly reading the only Potions text in the library I've never seen before, which, I've deduced, was destroyed sometime in 1979."

The afternoon passed quickly, and Severus enjoyed his dinner, which primarily featured sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table and glaring malevolently at his dormmates (and, when possible, James Potter, which was, really, just for show).

Severus hustled away from dinner and into bed, where he finished reading the book that he might, in fact, have smuggled out of the library (which clearly couldn't be trusted to keep it safe). He fell asleep early and awoke well before his roommates, who were apparently sleeping the satisfied sleep of the avenged.

The Defence examination absolutely could not have gone any better. He produced no less than twenty eloquent inches of spidery script for the essay portion, and as for the practical, the examiner was impressed—but not alarmed—by his mastery of nonverbal spells, as well as the few mild hexes of Severus' invention that he demonstrated for her (she was particularly impressed with _muffliato_). The woman even went so far as to smile at the examination's conclusion and say, "You certainly have a bright future ahead of you, Mr Snape."

So it was with no small amount of satisfaction that Severus took his seat at dinner amongst the Slytherin seventh-years, one of whom was lamenting his inability to perform a reliably strong, nonverbal Shield Charm. Once again, Severus marvelled—and despaired—that it would be another twenty years before the students saw a competent Defence instructor.

Or, rather, it _would have been_ another twenty years, as Severus had absolutely no intention of teaching again, Defence or otherwise. The students would simply have to learn for themselves, as he had. Perhaps, if he managed to vanquish the—

He stopped _that_ thought before it had a chance to materialize.

Wilkes' voice suddenly cut in on his reverie. "I imagine Snape had no difficulty," he said. "He's quite the prodigy."

Severus contented himself with raising an eyebrow behind his over-large glasses. "Oh?" he said simply.

"Might I go so far as to hope," Wilkes continued, "that you would deign to join us for our Potions review session tomorrow afternoon?"

Severus had no desire to chance revealing preternatural Potions knowledge to a group of potential Death Eaters. "I may be unavailable," he said idly.

Wilkes snorted. "Don't be absurd. You're available. It's the Muggle Studies exam tomorrow afternoon."

"Still," Severus said. "I—"

"Professor Slughorn," Wilkes interrupted, "_suggested_ that you join us."

Severus sat back. That explained Wilkes' sudden interest. "Very well," Severus replied. "In your dormitory, then? One o'clock?"

Wilkes rolled his eyes. "Don't do us any favours," he said. The boy to Wilkes' left—a doughy-faced blonde, some Parkinson offshoot?—laughed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Severus replied darkly.

Wilkes smirked. "Good."

Severus focused his attention on his dinner, ignoring the speculative glances the other seventh-years were now turning his way.

At the meal's end, Severus started for the dungeon staircase only to find himself flanked by Rosier and Avery, with Mulciber drawing up behind them. "Oh, good," Rosier said. "You're heading back. So are we."

Severus suppressed a groan. "Ah."

He and his unwelcome entourage started down the stairs.

"We heard," Avery said, leaning in and leering unpleasantly, "that you'll be revising with the seventh-years tomorrow."

Merlin, this was tedious. "Yes," Severus said, drawing out the _s_ in a sibilant hiss.

"That's good, then, isn't it?" Mulciber put in from behind him. "Considering you lost all your books and all."

"Yes, considering," Severus repeated.

"So," said Rosier, as they approached the bottom of the stairs, "here's hoping you do well on your exams, then." He stopped suddenly and held out his hand for Severus to shake.

Severus glared at him. "What's this?" he asked.

Rosier smirked. "Wishing you luck on the NEWTs, of course." He proffered his hand again.

Severus glanced behind him, where a dozen or so upper-form Slytherins were backed up on the stairs, half of them pretending not to eavesdrop while the other half pretended to be pretending not to eavesdrop (Slytherins!). He glanced back at Rosier, who grinned up at him from the step below.

Sighing, Severus reached out and shook the boy's hand. "Thank you," he said. "One might say that I'll be needing it."

One would be incorrect, but still—one might say it.

"That's why you've got all those seventh-years to revise with," Rosier said. When Severus stepped down on to the floor, Rosier companionably slung an arm around Severus' shoulders. "But for now, let's please have a game of chess. You know Avery's no good at it, and it's no sport at all losing to Mulciber each time."

Severus snorted—even as a child, Evan Rosier had never beaten Severus at chess—but he simply said, "Certainly. I assume there's a wager involved."

Severus may have had the intellect and experience of a 38-year-old Potions Master, but he still only had the coffers of a teenaged student.

Two hours later, his coffers more resembled those of a well-heeled heir-apparent Pureblood, which, Severus reflected, was an event for which even his sixteen-year-old self would have forgiven the slight of a few missing books.

On his way across the grounds and towards the lake the next morning—Severus could not abide the thought of one more morning spent trapped in the library with nervous Hufflepuffs and disdainful Ravenclaws—Severus unexpectedly found himself utilizing skills he had honed over nearly two decades of spying on and for the Dark Lord as, without consciously registering what stimulus had prompted his response, he ducked behind a tree and cast a hasty Disillusionment Charm on himself—

—which turned out to be for nought.

"Severus," Lily Evans said, peering around the tree, "I saw you hide back there." She squinted at him. "Oh, can you do a Disillusionment now, then? I mean, I suppose you'd need—they were probably on the NEWT, I mean the Disillusionment Charm probably was. Was it?"

Severus girded his loins (and then promptly resolved to never even _think_ the word "loins" around Lily Evans _ever again_) as he straightened his posture and, tapping his wand briskly on the back of his own head, released the Charm.

Lily smiled. "Hello," she said.

"Yes," Severus replied.

Lily blinked. "I'm sorry, yes _what_?"

"Yes," Severus said, "the Disillusionment Charm was on the NEWT."

"Did you do it properly?" Lily asked.

They stared at each other.

"Right," said Lily, blushing. "That was stupid. Of course you did. I just—right."

"The exam went well," Severus said. And then, because it suddenly felt like the right thing to do, he reached up and needlessly adjusted his glasses.

"Good," Lily said. "I'm glad."

They regarded one another for one long moment.

"I feel quite strongly as though I owe you an overdue apology for the unfortunate events of a few nights past," Severus said suddenly, the words bubbling up from his chest before he had a moment to censure them, just as Lily exclaimed, "Sev, I'm so sorry about Sunday night, you must think I'm the most _irrational_—"

They paused, and then Lily said, "I'm the one who owes you an apology, I was just being ridiculous—" while Severus shook his head emphatically and said, "I assure you, I could never hold a negative opinion of you—"

Without warning, Lily reached up with one pale hand and pressed a finger against Severus' lips. He backed up against the tree and his stomach clenched as Lily said, quite seriously, "Remus told me what happened after I left. You—I can't believe you did that."

Lily removed her hand and Severus, after a moment, eloquently offered, "Well."

Lily shook her head. "You probably shouldn't've done that, I can only imagine what you've had to deal with from your dormmates because of it, but I—well." She smiled. "It was surprisingly noble."

Severus shrugged and allowed several strands of hair to fall into his face. Lily reached out and, blushing, brushed them aside. "Really, Sev," she said. "Thank you."

Severus' cheek burned where Lily's fingertips had brushed his skin. "I—anything for you," he said guilelessly, and promptly wished that the earth would swallow him whole, or the Giant Squid would extend a tentacle and sweep him into the lake, or Evan Rosier would get tired of playing childish games and—

"Don't worry," Lily said solemnly. "I promise to use this power for the good of all mankind." She caught Severus' hand in her own, and, squeezing it, said, "May I accompany you during your last ride on the Hogwarts Express?"

Severus glanced down at their joined hands. "How could I possibly refuse?" he replied.

How, truly, could he?

He couldn't.

"Great," Lily said, smiling. "Really—wonderful." She squeezed Severus' hand once more before letting it go. "So it's a da—a deal, then."

"Quite," said Severus, whose sudden loss of eloquence was by no means rectified when Lily Evans suddenly swooped in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

For the second time in two weeks, Severus' heart stopped.

Lily pulled away. "Right then, good luck on the exams," she said breathlessly, and then she was gone.

Severus slid to his feet, the back of his robes catching on the bark of the tree he leaned against, and lay sprawled like a mangled spider amongst the upraised roots of the tree.

Bloody hell.

So much for avoiding unwanted attention. So far, he'd managed to attract Martinius Wilkes' scrutiny and physically assault Evan Rosier—and he sincerely doubted that James Potter would fail to notice if Severus Snape spent the whole of the train ride in the company of Lily Evans.

But Severus would just have to handle Potter's childish, possessive fury, because, although Severus' skills were many, "refusing Lily Evans" was not among them.

Severus opened his satchel, pulled out a book, and refused to think about radiant green eyes.

Soft pink lips never crossed his mind. At all.

* * *

That afternoon, Severus lurked in the doorway of the seventh-years' dormitory, which was as he'd remembered from his own seventh year. Instead of being a small room with just a bed for each student, the seventh-year dormitory also contained desks and a small assortment of chairs, which formed a small study area at the near end of the room. The sleeping area at the other end was separated by a thick curtain running the width of the dormitory, which was currently closed—presumably due to the presence of guests in the room.

In addition to Wilkes, the room also contained the blonde maybe-Parkinson, a ginger boy who was not a Weasley, and a skinny boy called Smythe (or was it Smitts?). To Severus' surprise—although he should have expected it—the boys had also been joined by two girls whom he had surely seen before, but absolutely could not place. The six students had drawn up chairs into a circle and were leafing through their Potions textbooks, murmuring quietly to one another. Given the presence of an additional empty chair in the circle, Severus rather assumed they were waiting for him to join them.

So, Severus straightened his shoulders and stepped into the room. "Hello," he said, and six pairs of eyes turned up to fix on him.

"Ah, good, you're here. Take a seat," Wilkes said, gesturing toward the empty chair. "Everyone, this is Severus Snape, Professor Slughorn's young Potions prodigy. Snape, I'm sure you know everyone here."

Severus didn't. "Certainly," he said easily.

"Right," Wilkes said. "Professor Slughorn suggested that you and your Potions expertise might assist us in revising for tomorrow's NEWT." Then, to Severus' surprise, Wilkes leaned back in his chair. "So," the Prefect said, "assist us."

Severus, who had just sat down, blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

One of the girls giggled.

"Assist us," Wilkes repeated. "As we are apparently in need of assistance."

Smythe-Smitts grinned.

Ah, so it was to be the "humiliate the pretentious swot" game, one with which Severus was not, it must be admitted, unfamiliar. He ascertained the situation at once; of _course_ Wilkes resented being told to ask the assistance of a younger student, and of _course_ he would go out of his way to prove to his peers (and himself) that said assistance was entirely unnecessary.

Frankly, it was damned foolish of Slughorn to think that this might have been a good idea.

But it was even more foolish of Wilkes to believe that he could outwit Severus.

"We have studied many Potions in our time at Hogwarts," Severus began, his voice low and silky. "But it is not the knowledge of any single, particular potion that will make the difference between an acceptable score and an _outstanding_ one. Rather"—and here he dropped his voice even lower—"it is _theory_. One may be able to follow directions to…the…letter, but then, ah…" Severus glanced around at the students, several of whom—despite themselves, Severus would wager—were quite captivated by his quiet speech. "If one does not fully understand, does not truly _comprehend_, the _reason_ we stir clockwise _here_, and counter-clockwise _here_, and crush with the flat of the blade of a stone knife hewn in the moonlight _there_—"

Severus spread his long fingers and extended his hands, palms upward. "Then," he continued, "one cannot hope to truly _brew_, and _that_, gentlemen—and ladies—"

To his complete (well-concealed) shock, one of the girls ducked her gaze and blushed.

"—is the difference between _brewing_," Severus said, "and _following a recipe_."

Severus surveyed the seventh-years. He had their full attention.

"And so, let us turn our attention to the Third Law of Golpalott, and its implications not only on antidotes, _but also_ on the brewing of poisons _in and of themselves_. I'm sure Mr Wilkes will be kind enough to share his doubtlessly perceptive insights on the matter?"

Martinius Wilkes did not, in fact, seem pleased.

Although Severus had never enjoyed _teaching_, he had to admit—_lecturing_ and _humbling_ were, of course, entirely different matters.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, and Severus was circulating amongst the students, speaking with them individually about their personal concerns about the examination. It wasn't as difficult as he'd feared—after all, he knew the Hogwarts Potions curriculum like the back of his wand, and it was easier than he'd dared hoped to keep his advice within the confines of the knowledge a particularly studious youth might acquire in the course of his education.

He finished answering Smythe's (Smitts'?) embarrassingly elementary question about the steeping time of volatile animal-derived ingredients ("Longer is better." "Really?" "Merlin help us") and moved to stand behind the last person in the circle, which was (naturally) Martinius Wilkes.

"Is there anything I can assist with?" Severus asked plainly.

Wilkes indicated the seat next to him, which Severus took with some caution, and leaned forward. "You do know what you're talking about," Wilkes said quietly. "I'll give you that."

Severus inclined his head.

"Which leads me to wonder," Wilkes continued softly, "why this is the first time _I've_ heard of your impressive Potions acumen."

Severus shrugged. "I've never concealed it," he said. "I might assume that any previous murmurings you might have heard might have been simply dismissed as excited babbling from unknowledgeable children in lower years than your own."

Wilkes smiled wryly. "And you _might_ be correct." He sat back. "Snape—is that an English name?"

"My father was from Manchester," Severus said flatly. Wilkes wasn't far off from encroaching on the time-honoured Slytherin tradition of Don't Inquire about Blood Purity to Someone's Face (Even if He Is a Dirty Halfblood).

"But your mother was a Prince, is that correct?"

Severus did not like the turn this conversation was taking. He knew very well, of course, that Wilkes was destined for the Dark Lord's inner circle. And, if Severus' own date of induction was any indication, it was not at all unlikely that the proud eighteen-year-old before him already bore His Mark.

"She was," Severus replied evenly.

"The last of the Princes, I believe?" Wilkes asked.

"Indeed."

"So I wonder," Wilkes said, "why an intelligent young man with no connections to speak of—I hope you'll allow me to speak plainly, as I mean no offense at all, you understand—would not choose to utilize his remarkable abilities to build favour amongst his peers, rather than antagonising them?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Am I to infer that you are referring to a specific incident?"

Wilkes smirked. "I heard that you stabbed Evan Rosier."

"I did not, as you say, _stab_ Evan Rosier," Severus replied, rolling his eyes.

"But you attacked him"—Wilkes' upper lip curled, ever so slightly—"physically. Unless I've been misinformed?"

"You were not," Severus said.

Wilkes leaned forward. "What would possess you to do such a thing?" he asked.

"Rosier is an arsehole."

He really was.

To his surprise, Wilkes leaned back and laughed openly. "Oh, but you _are_ perceptive, aren't you?" he said. "He definitely is; I'll give you that. But," he continued, more soberly, "Rosier is not the only person worth forging a relationship with at this school. So I ask you again—why leave school now, and lose the opportunity to build those relationships?"

"There is not a single person at this school who could assist me in progressing my career," Severus pointed out. "And there are others who would, frankly, delight in doing the opposite."

"Your little Gryffindor foes?" Wilkes asked. Severus nodded. "Yes, I can see how that would become tedious. So—what will you be doing, once you've sat your early NEWTs?"

"Take up under a Potions Master," Severus said.

"Do you have one in mind?"

"Why, yes." Severus leaned back in his own chair. "I'm sure you're familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger? He's agreed to have me on as an apprentice—assuming, of course, that my NEWTs are in order, which…" Severus trailed off, waving one hand dismissively.

"Well, well," Wilkes said, his eyes widening slightly. "Professor Slughorn didn't share _that_ bit of information with me. You are to be congratulated, then."

Severus smirked. "Thank you."

"So you'll be starting, when, in July? After we get our results?"

"Ah, on Saturday, actually," Severus said.

Wilkes smiled crookedly. "You must be eager, then," he said, "to forgo your last opportunity for a holiday."

Severus snorted. "As you've heard, my mother passed away earlier this year," he said. "I've no desire to cool my heels in her husband's house when I could be working with the greatest Potions mind in centuries."

Wilkes' expression changed suddenly. "I take it, then, that you are…unfond of your father's family?" he asked casually.

Severus' thoughts stopped cold.

Two years from now and eighteen years ago, Wilkes had taken Severus to his first party at Malfoy Manor.

A year after that, Wilkes had brought in his dear friend Peter Pettigrew.

Really, Severus was quite the fool for not realizing sooner that Wilkes would already be recruiting for the Dark Lord.

Severus made a decision.

"I am fonder of Potions," he said, "and research therein." And, recalling the nervous gesture he had found himself making that morning, he reached up and needlessly adjusted his glasses.

Wilkes pursed his lips. "I see," he said. "So it's academics before all else, then?"

"Precisely."

"What about politics?" Wilkes asked. "Any interest there?"

"I cannot tell you," Severus said slowly, "how entirely uninterested I am in politics."

"Hmm." Wilkes leaned forward. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the proper connections can ensure a most well-respected career—even in academics. Where else does research funding come from, if not from highly-regarded patrons?" he asked rhetorically.

Severus inclined his head. "But if I had a patron," he pointed out, "my accomplishments would be considered his, and not my own."

Wilkes suddenly smiled, and sat back. "There it is."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'd been wondering if I was talking to a Slytherin," Wilkes said, "or a Ravenclaw."

Severus snorted. "There are worse things to be called." He smirked. "I've been called many of them."

"I can't imagine why," Wilkes said dryly. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs in front of him. "Very well, Snape," he said, "you're free to go. I'll be sure to tell Sluggy how very helpful you were."

"You're too kind," Severus said.

"Yes," Wilkes said. "I am." He waved Severus away.

And with that ominous statement ringing in his ears, Severus packed up his few belongings and left the room.

* * *

Thanks so very much for all your reviews-they mean a lot to me! They also help me in guiding the tone of the story-I've had the overall plot arc planned out for almost a year, but the subplots have been very much informed by my readers' input, so thank you all!

In the next chapter - Severus takes his Potions NEWT and James Potter attempts to plot.


	7. June 1976, pt 6

****

Chapter Six  
**June, 1976**

That evening, after dinner, Severus excused himself from his dormmates' grating company and made his way towards the dungeons, fully intending to get an early start on his night in order to be well-rested for the next morning's Potions exam.

Evidently, however, James Potter fully intended to continue making his life as miserable as possible.

As Severus crossed the Entrance Hall, heading for the staircase, Potter jogged up from the side of the room and leapt directly into Severus' path.

On reflex, Severus flipped his wand into his hand and pointed it at him.

"Hey," Potter protested, eyes widening, his hands in the air. "I don't—put that away, Snape. _Merlin_."

Severus raised an eyebrow at him.

Potter lifted his school robe to the side, showing Severus the wand that was firmly in the other boy's pocket. "I'm not going to hex you. I just wanted to speak to you."

"Really."

"Yes, _really_." Potter let both hands drop. "Look, can we take this outside, or something?"

Severus snorted. "You _must_ be joking."

Potter ran a hand through his hair, which—Severus smirked—just made it look even worse. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't go anywhere alone with you if you asked me, either. Fine." He jerked his messy-haired head towards a bench in the corner, and the two of them sauntered over and sat down (Severus, of course, kept his wand in his hand).

"I just wanted to let you know," Potter said, taking a deep breath, "that I'm on to you."

"Are you, now?" Severus asked mildly.

"Yes. I know what you're doing, and although it's a good try and all, it's _not going to work_." Potter leaned back and crossed his arms.

"What, pray tell, do you believe me to be doing?" Severus asked.

Potter smiled crookedly. "Fine, I'll bite. Your whole nasty Pureblood act wasn't getting you into Evans' good graces, so you've decided to show your _intellectual_"—he said the word like it pained him—"side in the hopes of impressing her. But you forgot one thing."

"Do go on, I beg of you," Severus said lightly.

This was damned entertaining.

"Evans isn't a Ravenclaw, to be impressed by swotty tossers. And she's not a Slytherin, to be impressed by—whatever it is Slytherin girls like. Good lucks and breeding and money, I guess, which come to think of it wouldn't do you any good anyway—"

Severus pointed his wand up at Potter's heart. "Do go on," he said again, "I _beg_ of you."

Potter glanced down and audibly swallowed. "Right. Anyway. Evans is a _Gryffindor_. What she wants," he said, "is a _gentleman_. A knight in shining armour."

Severus blinked. "And you believe you qualify, I suppose?" he asked, allowing his amusement to show in his voice.

"More so than _you_, I'd say," Potter said. "And although you can try to keep up this virtuous act you've got going on, we _both know_ your true colours."

"Do we, now?"

"Yes. You can be the next Potions prodigy all you want, but nobody's forgotten," Potter said, shaking his head for emphasis, "that there's _one thing_ you know better than anybody _should_, and that's Dark bloody Magic."

Severus shrugged. "What exactly is your point? I trust you have one, although perhaps my trust is over-optimistic."

Potter scowled satisfyingly. "My _point_ is that you'll only be able to keep up this noble, adult pretence for so long before it all comes crashing down."

"Your lack of confidence wounds me," Severus said flatly.

"You're not cut out to be the good boy, Snape," Potter said, leaning back against the wall. "But _me_, on the other hand—I have 'good boy' written all over me." He swept his hand down his body for emphasis. Severus snorted.

Potter continued, "So someday, when you get tired of pretending, Evans is going to be reminded what you really are, you _snake_, and when she does"—Potter grinned—"she's going to remember the _good boy_ who's been right there all along."

"So that's your plan?" Severus asked. "Act as the paragon of virtue until such a time as I reveal myself to be the vortex of evil you so sincerely believe me to be?"

Potter crossed his arms. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Are you interested in hearing a critique of this brilliant plan of yours?" Severus offered.

"Go ahead."

"First of all, one should never plan one's successes on the basis of the assumed failures of others, as one is certain to be disappointed," Severus said. Potter indicated for him to continue, so Severus added, "Secondly, it is generally regarded as a poor decision to reveal one's plan to one's rival."

Potter seemed to allow that to sink in, and then he grinned and said, "But that's where we're different. I, Snape, just want to give you a sporting chance, of course. As I said, _I_ am a gentleman."

"Very well, then." Severus stood. "Best of luck to you on your imbecilic plan, Potter, which I assure you will never come to fruition." He affected a mocking bow in Potter's direction and added, "I bid you good evening."

Severus swept across the room towards the staircase, leaving Potter on the bench, alone with his unwarranted expression of satisfaction.

* * *

Severus felt like he had blinked, and then he was suddenly handing in his finished Potions written examination—one he had been careful to seed with intimations of new theories and "discoveries" he would shortly be making as an apprentice.

Severus blinked again, and he was corking a sample of a beyond-perfect Amortentia (which he had refused to smell) and handing it in to an examiner who glanced at the vial through magnifying spectacles and said, "My word—what did you say your name was, young man?"

Severus told him, and the examiner smiled and said, "That's a name I'll be sure to remember, Mr Snape. I'll be watching the Potions periodicals."

Severus nodded modestly and said, "Thank you, sir."

And then Severus was at the Leaving Feast, and the Ravenclaws had won the House Cup—bully for them—and then the plates were cleared away and he was marched between his fellow fifth-years down to the dungeons, where the sixth-years had smuggled in a fair supply of Firewhiskey from Hogsmeade (there was Butterbeer for the lower forms—they were Slytherins, not degenerates) and Severus allowed himself to be given a tumbler of whiskey, which he immediately regretted upon realising that his sixteen-year-old's body would not have nearly the tolerance he'd had at thirty-eight, and he was forced to perform a wordless Switching charm in order to replace it with water (a tragic waste of what was, he gathered, excellent Firewhiskey).

So Severus sat in a Common Room chair and watched children from twelve to eighteen chatter happily, optimistically about their futures—never mind the Dark Lord who was rising and, if Severus didn't do his job properly, would rise again—and it was going too fast, it was all going much too fast, and then the inexplicable giggler from the previous day's review session was leaning towards his chair and asking him how he had done on the exam, and what score he predicted he'd get, and if he would like to dance with her, and Severus said, "Excuse me," and asked a passing sixth-year for another glass of Firewhiskey, which he tossed back expertly—"Good show, Snape," the sixth-year said appreciatively—and felt much better for it.

And the girl smiled, and offered him her hand, and of course Severus demurred and the girl insisted, and he was beginning to attract others' attention—why would Snivellus decline the opportunity to dance with a gorgeous older girl, he must be _mad_, or maybe he just didn't like girls, ha ha ha—so, his face warming, he took the girl's hand and brought them both to their feet and out to the impromptu dance floor in the centre of the room.

The music was loud, contemporary, and non-Muggle, which meant that it sounded like early punk with the unlikely additions of a bagpipe and a glockenspiel—Wizards did not, it must be confessed, do music well—and Severus did his best to sway convincingly to the music. The girl, whose name he still didn't know, didn't seem to care that he was probably the worst dancer in the history of the Wizarding world—he could waltz, of course, but a waltz this was not—and it occurred suddenly to Severus that she had most likely been celebrating the end of her Hogwarts education with a whiskey or three of her own.

"Would you care to sit down?" Severus asked her, as the song seemed to be drawing to a close.

"What?"

Merlin. "Would you care," Severus yelled over the music, "to sit down?"

She shook her flushed face. "No, I'll stay here, but feel free to sit out—thanks for the dance, love!"

To Severus' shock, she pressed her lips to his cheek before saying, "Owl me this summer, won't you?" and turning to the other seventh-year girls, joining them in their uncoordinated dance in the centre of the floor. Severus distinctly heard the lot of them giggling—again—and he whirled in the opposite direction towards a low table where he helped himself to another Firewhiskey, because he seemed to be handling the first one just fine and if it came down to it, he was damned ace with a Sobering charm—Rosier had, or would have, taught him an excellent one in a year's time, nineteen years ago—and what had made her think that he wanted her to kiss the cheek that Lily had kissed just one day before?

Severus swallowed his whiskey, and it warmed his throat, and then Rosier was clapping him on the back. "Brilliant, Snapey," he said. "_Greengrass_? Didn't know you had it in you."

Greengrass? Oh, the girl. "Yes. Well."

The music grew quieter, and the whiskey-distributing sixth-year jumped on top of a chair. He cast a _Sonorus_ on himself and said, "Ladies and gentlemen—and visiting Hufflepuffs—"

The crowd laughed, and Severus heard someone say, "Wait, somebody invited some Hufflepuffs?"

"—thank you for joining us in bidding _adieu_ to our dearly departing Slytherins," the sixth-year continued. "We've had many years to get to know and loathe them—or in the case of our dear firsties, just one year—hey, firsties, why are you still up? As your Prefect I insist you go to bed. Actually, as your sixth-year Prefect, I insist your fifth-year Prefects round you up and make you go to bed. Go on. Second-years too. Off you go."

Behind Severus, Rosier groaned good-naturedly and left to shoo away the younger students.

"Now that we have rid the rooms of the impressionable youths—those still young enough to have hope of redemption, that is—"

The gathered students laughed again.

"Let me welcome your seventh-year Prefect—until tomorrow, of course, when _I_ become your seventh-year Prefect—"

"Oy!" shouted a girl, whom Severus belatedly recognized as the female sixth-year Prefect.

"—Right, when I become _one of_ your seventh-year Prefects—anyway, here he is, Mr Marty Wilkes!"

Severus sank down onto a nearby chair. Merlin, they were all so…happy, so…optimistic. None of them had yet lost friends or family members to the war. Had any of them already pledged themselves to the Dark Lord? Probably. But—Severus surveyed his classmates—not one of them yet had any idea of what that truly meant.

The children around him cheered for Martinius Wilkes, Death Eater, who jumped up on the chair next to the sixth-year. "Thanks, Selwyn, now get the hell off my chair." Selwyn grinned, bowed, and jumped down.

"First of all, I want to thank the sixth-years for providing the materials for such a…festive farewell gathering." Wilkes toasted the air with his glass. "May the current fifth-years do you as well on your last night at Hogwarts."

Rosier, who had just returned from the lower forms' dormitories, placed his hand over his heart and nodded solemnly, much to the amusement of the students around him.

"We've spent seven long years at Hogwarts," Wilkes began, "learning from our estimable professors…and our not-so-estimable professors—"

"—and seven different Defence hacks!" called out the ginger not-Weasley seventh-year.

"Yes, and them," Wilkes said, "for which we all deserve medals, frankly." The students responded with laughter and jeers. "But the one thing that has always remained consistent for each of us—even the lucky buggers who are skipping out two years early—"

Severus felt dozens of eyes turn and focus on him, in his chair, with his ill humour and his glass of Firewhiskey, and he assessed the atmosphere of the room and the temper of the students—

Severus indicated with a quick jerk of his right hand that Wilkes was a wanker, and everyone laughed, and their attention turned back to the boy standing on the chair.

Severus' grip on his glass relaxed.

"Yes, thank you, Snape," Wilkes continued. "Charming as always. As I say, what has remained consistent for _all_ of us, throughout our years at Hogwarts, is the same thing that brings us all together here tonight: Slytherin House."

A few students nodded, and Wilkes resumed speaking. "You've certainly heard grumblings from lesser minds that ours is a House for Dark Wizards. To which, of course, I reply that we have exactly as many Dark Wizards as any other House—but we can't help it if we're always the best at what we do."

Even Severus cracked a smile at that one.

"But truly, ours is a mighty House," Wilkes said, "where honour is more important than blind loyalty, shrewdness more valued than recklessness, and understanding more vital than inapplicable knowledge." Wilkes paused. "Unless, of course," he added, "you're a certain lucky bugger who's skipping out two years early."

Severus didn't hesitate before flipping Wilkes two fingers, which delighted everyone (especially, Severus rather thought, Martinius Wilkes).

"So here's my parting advice, from a wise old man to his many breathless acolytes," Wilkes said—"Yeah, right!" Selwyn called up—"and shut up, Selwyn. My advice is this: Never forget that you're a Slytherin, never bring dishonour to Slytherin, and never forget that your _true friends_"—he paused to gaze earnestly around the room—"are in Slytherin. Which is a good thing, too—because who runs the world?"

"Slytherin!" came the standard response.

"Exactly!" Wilkes said approvingly. "A toast, then, to the mighty House of Slytherin!"

Wilkes lifted his glass, and Selwyn jumped up next to him. "A toast, too, to our departing seventh-years—to Wilkes, Emery, Bagshot, Sturgeon, Smythe—"

Aha!

"—Greengrass, Wicker, Lovelace, Parkinson, and, why the hell not, Snape." Severus rolled his eyes.

"To Slytherin!" Wilkes called.

"To Slytherin," echoed the mighty House of Slytherin—even, why the hell not indeed, Severus Snape—and that mighty House set about noisily finishing off the last of their high-calibre Firewhiskey.

Severus, however, had had quite enough alcohol and optimism. He took his leave, seeking the solace of his empty dormitory for one last time.

* * *

The train was slowing slightly, and Lily stood and, much to Severus' shock, began unbuttoning her robes. Severus inhaled sharply. "Lily, what are—"

She turned her back to him and said, over her shoulder, "I can't very well go out into Muggle London dressed like this, can I?" she asked. Suddenly, one of her shoulders was bare.

Severus swallowed. "Shouldn't—ah, that is, shouldn't you—wouldn't you like to do that in the girls' lav?"

"Don't be silly," Lily said, smiling. "We're friends, aren't we?" The other shoulder was now bare.

"Yes," Severus said. "Yes. We are."

"Shouldn't you get changed, too?" Lily asked sweetly. "You can't very well wear _those_, either."

Severus glanced down. He was wearing his Death Eater's robes.

"Here," Lily said. "I'll help you take them off." Her robe fell to the floor, revealing that she wore only a pair of pink lacy knickers underneath.

Just before she turned around to face him, she frowned slightly and asked, "Oy, Avery, have you seen my Ballycastle socks?"

Severus sat up in bed.

"Sweet merciful Merlin, _no_," Avery groaned, "I haven't seen your bloody Ballycastle socks. Now shut the hell up."

Mulciber was digging through his trunk. "I know I should've packed last night like you lot did but I was fucking pissed, all right, now who has my fucking Ballycastle socks?"

"Nobody has your socks, Mulciber," Rosier called from behind his own bedcurtains. "Now shut _up_ and let us sleep for _half a sodding hour more_."

Severus fell back onto his mattress.

Two hours later, he was walking down the corridor inside the Hogwarts Express as it departed Hogsmeade Station, glancing in each compartment until he finally reached the one containing just one red-headed, beautif—person.

Severus slid open the door. Lily looked up from her book and smiled at him. "Hello," she said.

"Hello," Severus replied. He slid the door closed and took his seat on the bench opposite hers.

"So," Lily said without preamble, "did you go all the way with Evvie Greengrass, or did you just neck for a while?"

Severus sputtered, and Lily laughed. "Oh, Sev, you should see your _face_. Relax. You and I both know how the Hogwarts gossip mill works. Mary heard early this morning from some Hufflepuff or other that you danced with Greengrass at Slytherin's party, and then by the time the rumour came back around after breakfast from some Ravenclaw, it was that you'd taken her into one of Slytherin's many BDSM dungeons and had your wicked way with her." Lily grinned and added, "Which is preposterous, of course, I mean, you seem far more the type to want someone to have their wicked way with _you_."

Severus blinked. "Impressive," he said.

"I know!" Lily said. "To extrapolate all that from one dance…" She trailed off.

Oh. "One _brief_ dance," he agreed. "Not even a slow one."

Lily visibly relaxed. "Really!" she said. "The whole story was just absurd. I mean, BDSM dungeons, _honestly_."

"In all fairness, the bit about Slytherin's BDSM dungeons is true," Severus deadpanned. "We have four of them."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "You're joking."

Severus shrugged, and Lily lifted one of her feet and prodded his leg with it. "You're _joking_," she repeated, and Severus shrugged again. Lily kicked him. "You're joking!"

"I suppose you'll just have to find another Slytherin," he said, "and ask _him_."

Lily threw up her hands. "Fine, fine," Severus said. "I'm joking about the BDSM dungeons."

"Thank you," Lily said.

"We don't have _four_ of them."

"Oh my God."

An hour's worth of conversation later, and despite Lily's objections, Severus was gallantly paying for both of their tea trolley purchases with the money he'd won off Rosier in their most recent chess matches. He was receiving his change back from the trolley witch when a door three compartments down from his own slid open and Potter and his cronies spilled out, swarming around the trolley like unfed wildebeests.

"Oy, Sniv—" Potter began, and then he stopped suddenly, looking behind Severus.

Severus glanced behind himself to see Lily watching them through the open door of their compartment, making a _what's going on?_ gesture from her seat.

"Er, hello, Snape," Potter said instead. "I hope the journey is going well for you. I trust we're not in your way?"

"The bloody _fuck_?" Black said from behind him, while Lupin stifled a grin behind his hand.

"Not at all," Severus replied. "I was just returning to our compartment. If you'll excuse me."

If Severus placed a little extra emphasis on the word "our," well—he _did_ have to keep up appearances as a teenage boy, didn't he?

While Potter's face turned red, Severus sauntered back through the open door of his compartment, reclaimed his seat, and said, "Potter sends his regards," before he closed the door with a quick flick of his wand.

The door muffled, but did not block out, Black's loud demand of, "What the hell has gotten into you, mate?"

Severus turned to Lily and said, "I brought you an extra pumpkin pasty."

Shortly after they finished their overpriced train luncheon, there was a quick knock on the door, which slid open to reveal Marty Wilkes, already dressed in dark green street robes. "Ah, Snape," he said. "There you are. I wanted to—oh, hello."

Wilkes' attention had turned to Lily, who was raising her eyebrows at Severus. "My apologies," Severus said. "Lily Evans, may I present Martinius Wilkes, seventh-year Slytherin Prefect."

"Recent Hogwarts graduate, rather," Wilkes said, "much like Mr Snape, here. Snape, my family will be hosting a gathering at our place in the country in two weeks' time. I do hope you'll be able to join us."

Severus inclined his head. "If my work permits," he said.

It wouldn't.

Wilkes nodded. "Naturally. I'll be sending a formal invitation, then. Care of…?"

"Slug and Jigger's."

"Excellent. Enjoy the rest of the trip, Snape. Miss…Evans." And Wilkes was gone.

Lily stared pointedly at Severus. "Slug and Jigger's?" she repeated.

"I'm not sure of the exact number," Severus explained. "On the low end, I imagine, as it's not far from the Leaky Cauldron, but…"

Lily cocked her head to one side. "And why, exactly, would you be getting mail at the apothecary?"

Severus felt the blood drain from his face. "I haven't told you?"

Lily, clearly amused, shook her head.

"My apologies, then. I know I meant to—I had planned to right after I found out—but then Potter was there and—"

"And then we bollocksed it all up, I know," Lily said, smiling. "Tell me what you'll be doing at the apothecary."

"I'm sure you're familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger?" Severus asked.

"Yes, of course."

"As it turns out, he and Professor Slughorn are business associates—partners in the Diagon Alley apothecary—and Master Jigger recently lost his shop boy."

Lily grinned. "Aha! So you'll be working in the shop, then. Lord help your customers, Sev."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence," Severus said wryly. "With luck—actually, it's rather a given, honestly—I won't be terrorizing the apothecary patrons for long. Providing Master Jigger is impressed with my work ethic and with my NEWT scores, which…" Severus waved one hand dismissively. "He has agreed to take me on as his apprentice." Severus paused, and then added, "He's never taken an apprentice before."

Lily's eyes widened. "Wow," she said. "That's amazing. He's the leading expert in combat potions, isn't he?"

Severus nodded. "Possibly the _only_ expert," he said. "The opportunity to learn from him, well, it's—it's more than I could've ever hoped for."

"Well, you deserve it," Lily said, smiling, "Mr 'I Sat my NEWTs and my OWLs in the Same Week.'"

Severus allowed himself a smile. "I assure you, Lily," he said, "that this is one of many things I truly do not deserve."

They spent the remainder of the trip talking of this and of that—their plans for the summer, the possibility of a visit, the idiocy of James Potter, who walked by the compartment, whistling, no fewer than four times—and before long, the train was pulling into King's Cross.

Severus shouldered his trunk and lifted half of Lily's, following her onto the platform and through the barrier into the station proper, where her mother was waiting for her, open-armed. After releasing Lily from her fierce hug, Mrs Evans—a slender woman with fading red hair—turned to Severus and, much to his surprised, squeezed him briefly.

"I was so sorry to hear about your mother, Severus," Mrs Evans said. "Are you holding up all right?"

"Mum, he doesn't want to talk about it," Lily hissed.

"No, I—thank you, Mrs Evans, but I—the pain eases with every day."

Indeed, the pain had eased immensely over twenty years.

"Well, if you need anything, we're just down the street, you hear?" Mrs Evans said, unsubtly pinching her daughter's arm.

"Mum!" Lily said. "Severus is actually—he's finished school, Mum, he's sat his NEWTs early and he's taking up under a Potions Master here in London!"

"Well, well," Mrs Evans said, smiling, "congratulations, then! Where is this Potions Master?"

It hadn't even occurred to Severus that Master Jigger would come to the station to meet him, but Lily's mother was surveying the crowd gathered near the barrier, while Lily rolled her eyes. "Mum, I'm sure he's on the _other side_," she said pointedly.

Mrs Evans hand flew to her face. "Oh, of course. That was silly of me. Well, if you're sure he's here to meet you—"

Severus wasn't.

"—then let me wish you good luck!" Mrs Evans hugged him again, and Lily reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Good luck," she repeated, "and write _every day_, okay?"

"Every day!" Mrs Evans repeated in dismay, while Lily pulled her mother away from the barrier and towards the car park. "I'll talk to you soon, Severus," she called, and then she was gone.

Severus picked up his trunk where he'd let it fall and stepped back through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, which had emptied out greatly since he'd left it. Sure enough, Master Jigger was not among the smattering of parents and children left on the platform.

Cursing the still-extant Trace, glad that he'd already placed his school robes in his trunk, and grateful, for once, for his mismatched Muggle shirt and trousers, Severus shouldered his trunk once more and prepared himself for the long walk through Muggle London to Diagon Alley.

* * *

A/N: Finally! Six chapters later, and Severus has finally fought his way out of Hogwarts. Coming up: Severus is introduced to the wonderful world of retail.

...Merlin help him.

Thanks again for all of your reviews! Greyfalcon's inspired me to write a drabble that, alas, will not be posted until this story is completed, for fear of spoilers-but if y'all have any more ideas along those lines, feel free to send them my way. :)

Thanks also to Mr Peters, my beta, who reads any melodramatic Severus lines out loud in a Bill Compton (of _True Blood_) impression. Thank you, dear, for mocking me until I improve my writing.


	8. June 1976, pt 7

**Chapter Seven  
****June, 1976**

Severus allowed his trunk to fall heavily at his feet and, once more, cursed the Trace that prevented him from casting a Featherweight charm—or, more importantly, a _Point Me_.

Muggles pushed past him as he stood on a street corner, trying to get his bearings. He was familiar with a great deal of London—he'd lived there from '78 to '83 and _should_, for all intents and purposes, have recognised this corner, if it was at all on the route between King's Cross and Diagon Alley, which it _was_, it _had_ to be—

He was standing in front of a Tesco, which meant he _could_ buy himself a map—if he'd had any Muggle money on him, which of course he didn't—and across from a Tube stop, which meant—

Oh. Yes.

Severus lifted his trunk and crossed the street and—blast it—carried the damned thing down the stairs to the station, where, sure enough, there was a map on the wall. Satisfied that he was on the right track, only slightly turned around, Severus climbed the stairs—getting fully out of breath, now, _why_ did he own so many books—and headed out of the station and around the corner.

He cut through a city park and carried on past the library toward his destination, which he eventually reached—a scrawny boy hauling a an overlarge trunk attracted some attention, though not quite so much near the universities as it might have elsewhere—an exhausting forty-five minutes later.

Severus and his trunk, upon which he really should have cast a featherweight charm while still aboard the Hogwarts Express, headed through the Leaky Cauldron with the barest of nods to the surprised bartender. When Severus reached the wall, he tapped his neglected wand in the customary pattern on the bricks and, when the wall swept aside to admit him, hefted his trunk one last time as he stepped back into the Wizarding World.

Severus crossed the alley and, barely registering the "Closed" sign, pushed open the door to Slug & Jigger's Apothecary.

Master Jigger was inside, seated at a well-worn desk at the rear of the shop, his back to the door. "You're late," he said by way of greeting, his gaze apparently focused on the parchment ledger in front of him.

"I—I beg your pardon, sir?" Severus asked, as he attempted to set down his trunk with a minimal _thunk_.

"The agreement was that you would come here straightaway from the Hogwarts Express, which, if I am not mistaken, reached King's Cross an hour ago," Jigger said. "What, pray tell, required your attention so urgently as to keep you from your appointment?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Severus said. "I found myself disoriented somewhere near Russell Square, but I corrected my route straight away." And he'd had to stop a few times to rest because he was in possession of what had to be the heaviest, most unwieldy trunk in the world.

"You were—" With that, Jigger finally turned around to face Severus. "How, exactly," he asked, his brown eyes piercing, "did you become _disoriented_?"

"I haven't often walked through Muggle London, sir, and—"

"Did it not occur to you to Apparate?" Jigger asked.

Severus fought the urge to sit down on his trunk as he swayed—imperceptibly, he hoped—on his feet. "I don't have my license, sir."

Jigger, with no small amount of exasperation evident in his expression, set his quill heavily down on the desk. "Did you fail your examination?" he demanded.

"No, sir."

"You haven't bothered to _sit_ the examination?" Jigger asked.

"Sir, I'm sixteen." As he well knew.

Jigger adjusted his quill's position on the table and said, "Ah." Standing suddenly, he walked across the shop to where Severus stood, and, looming down at him with all the advantage his four extra inches' height granted him, said, "Very well, your tardiness is excused, providing this incident isn't repeated."

Jigger, it seemed, had very particular views on punctuality, but Severus supposed that such a brilliant man could be excused an eccentricity or two. "Thank you, sir," Severus said, "It will not be."

"Good." Jigger gestured with a jerk of his head for Severus to follow him over to the back right corner of the shop, where the door to the back alley sat opposite a narrow staircase leading up to the second floor. "This is where you'll enter and depart after hours," he said, indicating the door, "and up _there_"—he indicated the staircase—"is where you'll be staying. Feel free to ward the bottom of the staircase during business hours if you feel nervous about the customers wandering about." Jigger paused, and added, "It might be advisable. Clients have a tendency to expect a…" His lip curled. "Public washroom."

Severus nodded. "Thank you for the warning, sir. I'll be sure to. But…"

Jigger glared down at him. "Yes?"

"Sir, the Trace. Am I permitted to…?"

"Yes, yes," Jigger said, waving his hand jerkily. "Horace had me sign the revised contract and filed it with the Ministry. You may perform magic within the shop as necessary for your employment and, hypothetically, your apprenticeship."

"Sir," Severus said slowly, "how will it be determined what magic is considered 'necessary' for my employment?"

Jigger's nostrils flared. "Don't ask me to spell it out, Mr Snape."

Ah. So he was free to perform whatever magic he liked, then—excellent. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You'll find your work wardrobe upstairs," Jigger continued, "and I expect you to be back here, fully presentable, at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. We open precisely at ten and I expect you to have learned the basic workings of the shop by that time."

"I will do my best, sir."

"As you should. Well," Jigger said, reaching for the knob of the back door, "I will leave you to settle in for the evening. Should you have any questions…"

He peered down at Severus. "…I expect they can wait until morning." And Jigger left.

Severus, exhausted, walked back across the room and, checking to make sure the front door of the shop had locked—it had—gratefully cast a Leviosa on his hated trunk. Guiding it up the narrow staircase—the treads of which were perhaps half as deep as the length of his shoes—proved to be rather more difficult than he had originally anticipated, and it was with no small amount of relief that Severus allowed his trunk to come to a rest at the top of the stairs.

He sat down on his trunk and surveyed his new living quarters.

They were…

Tiny.

The room in front of him contained a small kitchen on the left, which was open to the rest of the room, such as it was—a table with three chairs (why three?) in the centre and a large armchair, nestled into the back right corner. Severus leaned forward and looked along the wall to his right, where two doors led to what appeared to be a standard W.C. and what was a large closet that might, on second glance, actually be a bedroom.

Supposedly.

Severus stood tiredly and walked over to the bedroom, which was (rather like the shop below) longer than it was wide. Inside, there was a bed—most likely shorter than he was—pushed against the back wall. A small desk squatted next to the bed, and directly to his right loomed a wardrobe that, upon opening, revealed itself to be stocked with regulation work robes in, thank Merlin, stark black.

Severus sat down on his new bed, which squeaked admirably, and leaned against the wall.

It was, as Jigger had promised, adequate—and that was all he'd needed.

Severus kicked off his boots and, with a whispered _nox_, fell gratefully asleep.

In the morning, he made use of his new bathroom (and until spending two weeks back in the Slytherin dormitory, he had quite forgotten the luxury of a private loo) and dressed in one of his new work robes, which, he discovered, had liquid-repelling, permanent de-creasing, and self-cleaning charms—they were easily as high-quality as any he'd owned and worn as Hogwarts' Potions Master. They also had an embroidered _S&J_ on the left lapel, as his school robes had displayed a Slytherin crest—which reminded him to take his school robes to a second-hand shop; he had no use for them, now, and he could certainly use the Galleons.

In the kitchen, Severus examined the contents of the cabinets—one for dishes, one charmed to keep food cool, and one to hold food at room temperature—and set about making himself a bowl of oatmeal (after not preparing his own food for eighteen years, he decided to stick with something simple).

He burned it.

He ate it regardless—only the oats that had stuck to the bottom of the pan were inedible, so he let those be—and, leaving his dishes to soak in the sink, headed down the stairs at fifteen minutes to nine.

Master Jigger had not yet arrived, so Severus busied himself with becoming better acquainted with the layout of the shop. The stairs to his living quarters were at the back corner of the shop; Jigger's accounting desk lay against the back wall. The shop was long and narrow, as was typical for Alley shops; the walls were lined with shelves holding ingredients (on his left) and standard potions (on his right). Various larger herbs that were sold in their whole, versus powdered, forms, hung from the ceiling. In the centre of the shop was a line of barrels, each filled with the more common, hardier ingredients.

Severus strolled to the front of the shop, which widened slightly—most likely, the staircase took up the extra width in the back part of the shop. On his left was the counter and till, behind with stretched a close glass cabinet—most likely locked—displaying the more exotic ingredients and potions. Behind the counter was a door marked "_Staff Only_," and Severus—who was, after all, staff—opened it slightly to see another staircase leading down.

"The downstairs laboratory is off-limits to you." Jigger's voice suddenly came from behind him.

Severus closed the door and turned around. "Yes, sir," he said. "I was merely trying to acquaint myself with the layout of the shop."

Jigger was standing just inside the shop's front door, staring Severus down with an expression that Severus suddenly realized most likely matched his own—impassive and Occluded.

Interesting.

"The laboratory may be entered by licensed Potioneers and their apprentices, which, Mr Snape, you are not," Jigger said.

"Yes, sir," Severus said again, not allowing his impatience to creep into his voice. Honestly, he wasn't a child—he understood perfectly Master Jigger's objections.

"If I have reason to believe that you are visiting my laboratory without my permission, I will be forced to ward you out of it," Jigger said.

"I will not, sir," Severus said. Really, there would be plenty of time for him to examine the laboratory in a few weeks, once his NEWT scores had arrived.

"Very well," Jigger said. "Since you have taken it upon yourself to go behind the counter, let us turn our attention to the till." Jigger stood opposite the counter from Severus and gestured toward the machine sitting on the counter. Its shape was not unfamiliar to Severus, of course, though he had rarely had cause to examine it from the retailer's side—on the side he faced, the bi-level box had three rotary displays of numbers at the top (labelled _G_, _S_, and _K_), and a slot for inserting coins on the bottom (as well as a narrow roll of parchment, presumably for writing receipts). On the right of the box as it faced him were an inkpot and quill stand, and on the side facing the customers, below three more rotary dials, a cup was attached to the front, into which their change would roll. Below the counter was a stack of small paper sacks.

"It's standard, and quite modern—you enter the costs of each individual item _thusly_…" Jigger tapped his wand at the right side of the box, causing the rotary dials to display _1G15S_, _3K_, and _1S28K_ in turn. "When you have finished, sum them like _so_…" And Jigger tapped the left side of the contraption, whereupon the dials rolled around to display _2G2K_.

"And then, of course, you insert the client's money…" Jigger extracted two Galleons and a Sickle from his pocket and, reaching over the device, slipped them into the slot near the bottom. "And the till computes the change necessary and submits it to the client." As he spoke, the dials on the customer's side rolled around to display _27K_ as twenty-seven Knuts clinked out into the cup.

"Should the customer desire a receipt, you will have one written _thusly_." Jigger tapped the quill stand with his wand, and the quill immediately set to dipping itself in ink and scrawling a list of items and their costs onto the narrow roll of parchment. "When it has finished, simply tear it off, hand it to the customer, and _always_ thank them for their custom." Jigger eyed Severus narrowly. "I do hope," he said, "that you are as proficient with wordless magic as Horace intimated."

"I believe so, sir," Severus replied.

"I will not have my shop keeper muttering incantations in front of customers. It's sloppy."

"Yes, sir."

"This apparatus is of the highest-quality charmsmanship and retains a list of costs, so you will not be expected to learn the price of each ingredient." Jigger paused, and added, "Yet."

Jigger turned to indicate the set of pewter scales to Severus' right. "Of course," he said, "you will also need to measure the items before you enter them into the till, but as these are self-balancing, you should have no trouble."

"Yes, sir."

"And the sacks are held beneath the counter, as you see." Jigger turned suddenly to peer at Severus. "Have you any questions?"

"I don't believe so, sir."

"Very well. Let us practise." Jigger turned around to a barrel on the floor behind him, from which he took one scoop of beetle eyes and added it to a small paper bag. "Ring this up, Mr Snape," he said, handing it to Severus.

Severus took the bag and placed it on the scales—and fought the urge to raise his wand defensively when Jigger's hand suddenly slapped down on the table. "Incorrect," Jigger said. "Beetle eyes are priced _per the scoop_, Mr Snape, and not by weight. Try again."

Severus' cheeks coloured slightly as he held the package in one hand and, tapping the right side of the till, thought _one scoop beetle eyes_.

The till displayed _3K_, and Severus looked up at Master Jigger and said, "That will be three Knuts, please, sir."

Jigger handed him a Sickle, which he slipped into—

Jigger's hand slapped the counter again. "Incorrect," he said. "You have not rung up the total cost."

Severus felt his face grow warmer as he tapped the till on its left side, whereupon the dial spun around to display, again, _3K_. This time, Jigger allowed him to slip the Sickle into the till, which proclaimed _26K_ and spat out the appropriate Knuts.

"May I write you a receipt, sir?" Severus asked, which earned him a curt nod from Master Jigger. Severus tapped the inkpot with his wand, and the quill wrote on the parchment:

_Beetle eyes 3K/scoop…3K_

_Total…3K_

_Given…1S_

_Change…26K_

Severus tore the narrow piece of parchment off the roll and offered it to Jigger. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," he said, and Jigger nodded.

"That was almost passable," he said. "Providing you refrain from making such careless mistakes again, your performance should be acceptable."

He was too kind. Really. "Thank you, sir."

"I will be in the laboratory for the duration of the morning," Jigger continued. "I will be monitoring your activities occasionally. Should you have any questions, I trust you are familiar enough with the requirements of potioneering that you will not dare to interrupt me mid-brew."

Severus swept aside the insult—after all, Jigger had yet to see his test scores. "Of course, sir."

"Good. Should you need my assistance, simply ring this bell here"—Jigger indicated a small bell to the left of the door to the laboratory—"and I will be alerted. I will ascend when it is convenient for me."

Severus belatedly realized what Slughorn had meant by "Arsenius can be…demanding."

"Take the next few minutes to acquaint yourself with our stock, especially regarding which items are priced per scoop, per ounce, or per item," Jigger said pointedly. "At ten o'clock you may open the shop. No earlier, and no later. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will close from one to one-thirty, at which time you may take your lunch," Jigger said. "You will not have any other breaks, except in cases of emergency, in which case you must be sure to lock the front door."

"Yes, sir."

Jigger came round the counter and opened the door to the laboratory. Pausing, he glanced back at Severus and said, "You will comb your hair on your lunch break." And then he was descending, the door closed behind him.

Severus had _known_ he should've nicked Mulciber's comb.

So Severus paced around the shop—he noted that the only items sold by the scoop were those in the barrels along the floor, which, _of course_—and when it was ten o'clock—no sooner and no later—he flipped the sign on the door to read "Open" and unlocked the door.

He retreated behind the counter and attempted to ready a pleasant expression.

He settled for "not disdainful."

Had he not been a master Occlumens, his neutral expression would've been sorely tested when his first customer walked through the door:

Lucius Malfoy.

He was, of course, twenty years younger than last Severus saw him, cowering before the Dark Lord. And Severus noticed with some amusement how Malfoy so loosely carried his wand—the Malfoy he had known would've given the last six inches of his hair to have his wand back. He might've even given his left hand for it.

"Well, well," said Malfoy, stepping toward the counter. "There's a face I've not seen for, what must it be, three years? Why, Severus, you've not changed a bit."

"Strangely, I recall being rather shorter at the end of my second year," Severus said. "What brings you to the apothecary this morning, Mr Malfoy?"

To Severus' total lack of surprise, Malfoy preened unsubtly at being addressed as an adult. "I find myself _much_ more interested in what brings _you_ to the apothecary," he said. "Particularly what puts you behind the counter." Malfoy's lips quirked. "Perhaps you have sought summer employment?"

Severus' lack of funds had been an open secret since the day he arrived in Slytherin, of course, so it was no wonder that Malfoy would allude to it now. And Severus felt—and immediately quashed—the sudden urge to casually mention that he had finished with his schooling, and that he was shortly to be apprenticed to Master Jigger himself, and that—

And that he had no desire to inform _another_ agent of the Dark Lord of his abilities. Wilkes' involvement had been regrettable but unavoidable, but his interest would, presumably, fade over time. Severus could not afford to pique the interest of Lucius Malfoy as well.

"I am employed here," Severus acknowledged, inclining his head slightly.

"As I recall, you had a knack for Potions," Malfoy said benevolently (to Severus' irritation). "This seems a fitting position for you."

Elitist arsehole. "I hope so," Severus replied. "And how may I be of assistance this morning?"

"Why, yes," Malfoy said. "My dear fiancée—you remember Narcissa Black, of course—has been feeling under the weather. I trust you carry a decent Pepperup?"

"Certainly," Severus replied. He walked around the counter and crossed the shop to the prepared potions which, fortunately, were sorted in alphabetical order. "Which size would you prefer?" he asked, stooping down to the low shelf where the Pepperup was kept.

"The larger, please," Malfoy replied. "Assuming it's fresh."

Severus stood up, a bottle of Pepperup in hand, and tapped it with his wand, casting a wordless _tempus condere_. "This one was stoppered five days ago," Severus replied. "It will remain potent for…" He passed his wand over the bottle once again. "…a fortnight more."

Malfoy nodded, one eyebrow slightly raised. "That will do," he replied. "And you may pass my complements on to your employer on the strength of his training."

Jigger's training? Hardly. These were the most basic spells in any Potioneer's arsenal. But… "Thank you, Mr Malfoy," Severus said. He headed back for the counter, potion in hand, and added, "Is there another way in which I might be of assistance?"

"That will be all," Malfoy said.

Severus rang up Malfoy's purchase—and remembered to total it—and wrapped it—and provided him with a receipt. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said, handing him the package.

"My pleasure," Malfoy said. "Enjoy your summer, young Severus. I hope it is…beneficial to you."

And Severus hoped Malfoy would choke on the stopper. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I wish you the same."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said, and he turned and swept out of the shop.

As he left, he held the door for a middle-aged witch who stopped in front of the barrel of beetle eyes, looked at the sign that read _Beetle Eyes, 3 Knuts a Scoop_, and asked, "How much are the beetle eyes?"

Severus could swear he saw Malfoy smirk as he closed the shop door behind him.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I have now spent my first day as the shopkeeper of Slug & Jigger's Apothecary._

_Suffice it to say that I am eagerly anticipating my NEWT results._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Severus,_

_Your poor customers._

_I've had a lovely week, thanks ever so for asking. Tuney's been less miserable than usual towards me…I think she's lonely, since all her friends have gone off to university, or been married off, or run off to Manchester proper, and she's left with Mum and Dad, which of course they're lovely people but they're our _parents_ you understand, so even her you-know-what sister is better than our _parents_._

_Poor Tuney._

_Anyway we've gone to see one film already and I've only been home a few days but Sev. Sincerely. This film was terrifying. Tuney hated it even more than I did but it was just _creepy_. There's a hanging and a decapitation and throughout it all there's this little boy, ugh, and at the end he does this smile…_

_I will be honest that I did not sleep at _all_ well, last night, and I really wish I had some Dreamless Sleep but ah well, this is the price we pay. Please do not take this as indication that Muggle entertainment is _bad_, you know it's not, I'm sure if we'd gone to see the film with David Bowie in it we'd've be fine but Tuney can't stand him for whatever reason. I will never see another horror film again, I really won't. God knows we have enough horror in the real world._

_So you must tell me about Master Jigger, of whom you did not speak a _word_. Are you impressing him yet with your Potions prowess? I'm sure you are. You must tell me._

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_Master Jigger is exacting. He has not allowed me to even look upon his laboratory, as, I quote, "The laboratory may be entered by Potions Masters and their apprentices, which you, Mr Snape, are not." I'm fairly certain he hates all people indiscriminately. And, naturally, I cannot wait until the day when I am able to work with him._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

_Dear Severus,_

_Has it occurred to you that there's a reason for that?_

_What's it been like in the shop? You haven't really said._

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_I am not entirely sure what you're implying._

_A small child vomited into the barrel of Chizpurfle carapaces today. I'm not certain if you've ever had the opportunity to clean vomit off of a score of Chizpurfle carapaces. I do not recommend it._

_That is how I would describe working in the shop._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

_Sev,_

_Think about it._

_Did you hex the child?_

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_I do not hate indiscriminately._

_I have reasons for hating everyone._

_I did not hex the child. Or its mother._

_As far as she knows._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

A/N: Dear readers, thank you so much for all your reviews on the last chapter. It was one of my favorites to write, and I'm truly touched that it received such a response.

And that's another reason why I regret to say that chapter eight will post week _after_ next, rather than next Wednesday as usual. My writing time will be very limited this weekend (I have houseguests! and it's my birthday!) and I'd rather not rush and end up with a short and/or subpar chapter. But you can be assured that I'll update early in the week (think Sunday or Monday, rather than the usual Wednesday), and hopefully the wait will be worth it.

Coming up: More unwelcome shoppers and an invitation to Wilkes Estate.


	9. July 1976, pt 1

__

**Chapter Eight  
****July, 1976**

_Mr Severus Snape  
__Slug & Jigger's Apothecary  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Mr and Mrs Martinius Wilkes  
__Mr Martinius Wilkes, Junior  
__request the pleasure of  
__Severus Prince Snape's  
__company on Saturday evening the twenty-fifth of July  
__at ten o'clock  
__Wilkes Estate  
__Dancing  
__R.s.v.p._

_

* * *

_

_Dear Sev,_

_If I don't get my OWLs soon I may die I honestly may. I know you've got far more to worry about what with the NEWTs but really. After speaking with Professor McGonagall you know I really have decided that Healing's what I want to do (and Heaven knows it will be useful). And I know my Charms and Potions are up to snuff but Herbology, you know I've always thought it so boring and I just hope I managed to retain enough of it to spit back out on the examination because if I don't make it into the NEWT class then my chances at being accepted at a really good program will be limited and I'll have to take a correspondence course or something._

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

Severus, old school robes in hand, exited through the back door of the shop and walked behind the buildings, coming back around to Diagon through the narrow alleyway next to the Quidditch shop. He strode quickly down the Alley, heading past Gringotts—the usual Friday lunchtime queue was already growing—and, finally, he reached his destination: The Second-Hand Corner.

It was much as he'd remembered from his time as a student (and, for that matter, as an apprentice): a dimly lit, but clean, room filled with a labyrinth of clothing racks, each crowded with multicoloured robes. Severus worked his way to the back of the shop, where the plump, alarmingly matronly shopkeeper kept her counter piled high with deposited garments. Madam Corner herself sat behind the counter, directing a needle through the motions of repairing a ripped seam on a plush-looking maroon robe, humming idly to herself.

Severus cleared his throat, and the witch glanced up, a smile suddenly appearing on her face. "Now there's a lad I didn't expect to see again so soon," she said. "Outgrow your Hogwarts robes again, did you? And only just getting a new set last year. Look at you, you lanky thing."

The woman actually _clucked_.

"Not exactly, Madame," Severus replied. "I've completed my Hogwarts education and, as such, now have no need for the school-issue robes. I'd like to trade them in, please, for day-to-day wear." Severus set his robes down on the counter.

Madam Corner directed her needle to a standstill and folded up the maroon robes as she spoke. "Completed, did you say? Funny, I always thought you for a NEWT student. It's not for everyone, though, goodness knows."

Severus inclined his head. "Your instincts were correct. I have indeed taken my NEWTs this year."

Corner laughed. "Goodness, how time does fly. I'd had you in my mind as a fifth-year!"

This conversation could not possibly have grown any more tedious. "Yes, well," Severus said.

Corner reached for Severus' discarded robes and unfolded the top set, holding them at arm's length. "Yes," she said, "these will do quite nicely. I'm in luck, actually—there's a young man in the dressing room right now who'll just fit them. Thank you for coming in, dear boy."

The shopkeeper rose to her feet, robes in hand, and walked between the clothing racks with surprising deftness until she reached a curtained-off cubicle. "It's your lucky day, young man," she said to the curtain. "I do believe I've just been brought the proper robes for you."

"Thank you, Madam Corner," said the curtain, who snaked out one pale arm to grab the robes and whisk them within.

The voice was familiar.

"And don't you worry, I'll switch the crest to Gryffindor as always," Corner continued.

Bollocks.

"How is the fit, then?"

The curtain was pulled aside to reveal, much as Severus had suspected, Remus Lupin—wearing _his_ Slytherin robes.

"Perfect, as usual," Lupin said. "Hello, Snape. I rather suspected it was you."

Severus felt his face twist into a sneer and did nothing to prevent it. "You heard me speak at length, Lupin," he pointed out.

Corner laughed. "I believe Mr Lupin is referring to the fact that he has been the lucky recipient of your outgrown robes for the past four years, Mr Snape. You and he have remarkably similar builds—he's just a bit shorter."

Lupin shrugged. "I assumed it was you," he said. "You're the only Slytherin matching that description, and…" He trailed off, gesturing to the crest on the robes.

"Interesting," Severus said drily. "Does Potter know?"

"I hardly see how that knowledge would benefit either of us," Lupin said mildly. "I've never mentioned it, as I have no desire for a Potter-purchased brand-new wardrobe."

Severus sneered again. "Please, don't utter such inanities while clad in a Slytherin robe. It's ill-suiting."

Lupin, much to Severus' dismay, smiled. "Why, Severus, I do believe you've made a joke."

Severus bit back a retort and, instead, turned to Madam Corner. "Madam, if you'll excuse me, I'll begin my perusal of your stock."

"By all means," said Corner, who was looking obnoxiously bemused by his repartee with Lupin. "Mr Lupin, if you'll change back, I'll get started on switching the crests."

"Yes, please. Thank you, Madame."

Lupin disappeared back into the cubicle, and Severus quickly scanned the shop until he found four sets of plain, black robes, which he brought to the counter. "Will any of these fit me?" he asked simply.

Corner peered at the robes briefly. "That one should do," she said, indicating—to Severus' total lack of surprise—the longest and narrowest set. Severus nodded and handed the robes in question to Corner, who made short work of wrapping them up.

"Let's see, that's one Galleon eight Sickles for each of your robes turned in, and two Galleons for the robes you're taking, which comes to… five Galleons six Sickles back to you, dear, and the robes of course."

"Thank you, Madam."

As Madam Corner counted out Severus' coins, Lupin exited the cubicle and reached within his own pocket. "That's ten Galleons for the full set of five?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, dear, and here's your package." Corner pushed a larger bundle towards Lupin, who counted ten Galleons out of his pocket and laid them on the counter. Severus, meanwhile, took his own money, and attempted to head unobtrusively out of the shop—only to be joined just outside the door by the young werewolf.

"Funny old world," Lupin said mildly. "May I ask where you're headed?"

"No," said Severus abruptly, and he turned and strode off in the direction of the apothecary.

Lupin was shortly at his heels. "Conveniently, my errands this afternoon also bring me in this direction," he said.

Severus stopped in the middle of the Alley. "Please tell me," he said softly, "that you are not headed for the Apothecary."

Lupin smiled. "As a matter of fact—"

"Merlin save us." Severus resumed his journey back to the shop, his pace quickening just beyond the speed at which Lupin's slightly shorter legs could keep up, and he managed to lose his unwanted shadow completely as he ducked into the alley behind the Quidditch shop and strode back towards the apothecary, through the back and up towards the front door, which he unlocked promptly at 1:30.

The moment the door was unlocked, Remus Lupin opened it. "Hello, Snape," he said.

"Welcome to the apothecary," Severus said flatly. He walked back behind the till, where he laid his hands flat on the counter and asked, "How may I be of assistance?"

Lupin, an obnoxious smile flitting briefly around his (less-) scarred face, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the interior of the shop. "I say," he said, "how do you manage to deal with the…smell, all day?"

Severus said, in the perfect detached tones of a professional, "I imagine my sense of smell isn't as highly developed as yours, Mr Lupin."

Lupin flinched and glanced sharply at him. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"How," Severus said again, "may I be of assistance to you?"

Lupin seemed to be chewing on his tongue. "Muscle relaxant," he said at last.

"Very good," Severus said. He walked around the counter and back down the shop, reaching down for a small bottle of thick liquid, which he brought back to the till. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Have you been talking to Lily this summer?" Lupin asked with clearly forced pleasantness.

"I'm afraid I can't help with that," Severus said flatly. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"I was just curious," Lupin continued. "I know she likes to write to her friends all summer. She's been writing to me, for example."

"Has she."

"And she hasn't, for example, been writing to James."

Severus maintained his perfectly neutral expression (and did not visibly clench the bottle in his hands). "Is that so."

"It is," Lupin said. He leaned forward, over the counter. "I just thought you might like to know," he said. "And yes, that will be all."

Severus rang up Lupin's purchase, bagged it, and handed it over. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary."

"Thanks for not hexing me out the door," Lupin replied.

"I'm not allowed."

Lupin blinked, and smiled. "That's two jokes in one day. You should be careful, or I might start to think that you enjoy my company."

"Have no fear of that," Severus said drily. "And I wasn't joking."

"I'm sure," Lupin said. "Take care, then."

Lupin headed out the door, an infuriatingly mysterious smile still on his unnaturally young face.

* * *

_Mr Severus Snape  
__regrets extremely that a previous engagement  
__prevents his accepting  
__Mr and Mrs Wilkes'  
__kind invitation  
__for Saturday the twenty-fifth of July_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_Don't be ridiculous_

[The above has been crossed out.]

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_I have the utmost confidence in your abilities and therefore your inevitable OWL scores. Do kindly remember that you are a brilliant witch and, in the extraordinarily unlikely event that you receive anything less than an Outstanding on your Herbology examination, you will most assuredly receive the Acceptable necessary to continue your Herbological education at Hogwarts._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

_Snivellus Snape,_

_It has come to our attention that your nose has been abusing customers in Diagon Alley, which is of course not on at all. We regret to inform you that we are dispatching hit wizards henceforth to remove the problem._

* * *

"Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said as he handed a package to a witch who had, in fact, been in the shop thrice in the past fortnight—each time buying a bottle of Pepperup. Evidently the woman enjoyed a nice steaming placebo for a tipple.

The next customer—a youngish wizard in his fifties—stepped up to the counter. "Excuse me, young man. Do you know much about sleeping draughts?"

Severus inclined his head. "I do."

The man smiled. "Wonderful. I've just brewed one this morning, but as I was cleaning up I noticed that my starthistle leaves had gone slightly brown. Is the potion still safe?"

"Which draught?"

The man frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Which draught did you brew?" Severus repeated with as much patience as he could muster.

"A sleeping draught, I said."

Merlin save him from inept potioneers. "Ah, yes, my apologies. I meant, Mr…?"

"Unger."

"Mr Unger, I meant _which_ sleeping draught did you brew—Borage's?"

Unger scratched his head. "It was…"

Severus refrained from sighing and asked, "Do you recall which book the recipe was in?"

At that, Unger brightened visibly. "Yes, certainly. _Medicinal Draughts for Daily Discomforts_."

"Ah, the Viridian, then. Yes, Mr Unger, that should be fine."

As Severus spoke, the door to the basement began to open, and Severus—on reflex—stepped to his left and, as usual, felt his spine tense up. It always did, when Jigger entered the room.

As Master Jigger passed around the counter, heading for the back door to the shop, Severus' customer asked, "So you're sure it's safe to ingest?"

"Certainly," Severus replied. "A sleeping draught is designed to be mild, and if the starthistle has gone slightly dry, it may decrease the potency of the draught, but it certainly will not affect its toxicity. If a truly deep sleep is your goal, you may wish to consider re-brewing, but—"

"My apologies," came Jigger's gravelly voice from Severus' right. Severus glanced over to see that Jigger had paused on his way through the shop and was looming at him from just beyond the counter. "My young employee has misspoken," Jigger continued. "Given the volatile nature of other ingredients in the draught, the moisture level in the starthistle could indeed have grave consequences. I do recommend that you re-brew. We also carry a fresh stock of sleeping draughts, if time is of the essence."

As Unger blinked in confusion, Jigger turned slightly to Severus and said quietly, "Do not give advice on matters in which you are not qualified to evaluate."

Severus turned to Unger, said, "Please excuse us, sir," and cast a quick _muffliato_—Jigger raised an eyebrow—and said, "Sir, forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I spoke with Mr Unger about the particulars of the draught he was brewing. I assume you to be concerned about the amount of potassium in the standard Borage recipe?"

Jigger nodded, and Severus continued, "Mr Unger did not brew the Borage draught, but rather the Viridian, which—"

"Which has inherently low potassium levels," Jigger cut in. "Very well, Mr Snape. Your reasoning was sound." To Severus' complete shock, Jigger nodded curtly and resumed his path towards the rear of the shop—but not before pausing before Severus' customer and saying, "My young employee's advice was sensible, Mr Unger. In the future, may I suggest Borage's sleeping draught, which tends to have slightly fewer side effects."

Jigger swept out of the shop, leaving Unger, who, to Severus' continued dismay, smiled at him.

"Bosses, eh?" the man said, shrugging.

Severus blinked.

* * *

_Mr Potter:_

_You will not contact me at my place of employment again._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

_Sev,_

_You're sweet._

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Severus:_

_I saw you're unable to attend the reception—does Jigger have you working, then? If you're able to get away I do hope you will. Many interesting guests will be in attendance. I have much to celebrate._

_Very sincerely,_

_Martinius Wilkes, Jr._

* * *

"Hello, Snape."

Severus glanced up from the till to see a young teenager—no more than fourteen, he'd gauge, and after fifteen years of teaching, he was adept at such estimates—looking at him expectantly. The dark-haired boy wore high-quality robes (common to wealthy Pureblood children on holiday) in a Slytherin green, which might explain why he seemed to know Severus—and the distinctive family crest on the robes' buttons explained who the boy was.

Regulus Black was young even in Severus' memory, having died at the age of nineteen, but it was still a surprise to see him looking like such a…child.

"Good morning, Black," Severus said. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Mother has run out of armadillo bile," Regulus said, wrinkling his nose. "She would also like some scarab beetles, if you carry them pre-ground."

Severus nodded. "I can certainly grind them. Did Mrs Black mention a quantity?"

Regulus shrugged. "Not of the beetles. She said at least six ounces of the bile, though."

Severus nodded and walked around the counter to the opposite side of the shop, where the more common liquid ingredients were kept on tap in long, narrow barrels on the wall. As he measured out the armadillo bile, he asked, "If Mrs Black has requested six ounces specifically, how many ground beetles do you suppose she needs?"

"I've no idea."

"Think, Mr Black, of which common potions require both ingredients, and which might be of particular interest to Mrs Black." Severus stoppered the vial of bile and walked down the shop toward the barrel of scarab beetles. Regulus, following him, shrugged.

"I strongly suspect a certain potion—fourth-year standard—and if you will answer one question for me, we can be sure to provide Mrs Black with the precise amount she requires," Severus said, standing next to the barrel of scarabs. When Regulus gestured for him to continue, Severus crossed his arms and asked, "Do you know of any social engagements on her schedule for this evening or tomorrow?"

Regulus frowned. "Nothing unusual, I wouldn't think. Our cousins are joining us for dinner tomorrow, of course, and this evening is her book club, but—"

"Indeed," Severus said. "Thank you, Black." He reached down and deftly counted out eighteen scarabs, which he placed into a bag for transporting back to the front counter.

"How did you know to take sixteen?" Regulus asked, following him back to the front of the shop.

"Eighteen, I think you'll find," Severus said, "and simply thus: the ratio of armadillo bile to scarab beetles in a standard wit-sharpening potion is one ounce to three units."

Regulus leaned against the counter. "Are you sure that's what she's making?"

Severus pulled out the larger mortar and pestle from under the counter and began to grind the beetles with an easy, practised motion. "So I assume," he said. "The other likely suspects were a certain fertility potion and a notoriously difficult-to-brew weed killer, and, given that Mrs Black does not plan to do any gardening today, and _does_ have a meeting of her book club…"

"I see," Regulus said, as he watched Severus funnel the crushed beetles into a paper packet. "I say, you do know what you're doing, don't you?"

Severus snorted. "I should hope so."

"My git brother didn't think you would, you know," Regulus said.

"Is that so?"

"He heard you were here from that Halfblood, Lupin, you know the one—"

"Unfortunately."

Regulus smirked. "And he said you'd be the worst shop boy that ever was and really it would be hilarious, he said, _hilarious_, to see you forced to be nice to everyone, and he couldn't wait for an excuse to come in."

Severus finished ringing up Regulus' purchases. "That will be fifteen Sickles, nine Knuts, please," he said. As Regulus reached into his pocket, Severus asked, "I may regret this, but may I ask why I have not, then, been gifted with the dubious pleasure of Mr Black the elder's company this morning?"

Regulus handed over a Galleon, which Severus popped into the till, and said, "Because that would require running an errand for Mother, not to mention getting up before noon, of course."

"Of course," Severus repeated. As the Sickle and Knuts clinked into the change cup, and the till's quill wrote out Regulus' receipt, Severus asked, "And, out of sheer curiosity, may I ask if you will you be telling him that I am, in fact, the worst shop boy that ever was?"

Regulus scooped up the coins and, looking at Severus quite as though hippogriffs had just flown out his ears, said, "Why would I tell him anything? He's a _Gryffindor_."

"So he is," Severus acknowledged. "Well, Mr Black, thank you for visiting the apothecary this morning. Given the alternative, you have my sincere thanks indeed."

Severus handed Regulus his parcel, and Regulus asked, "Will I be seeing you at the Wilkes party?"

Severus shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Regulus, to Severus' surprise, flushed slightly. "I—well, not many invitations were sent out," he said. "I'm the only fourth-year invited, I'm fairly certain, and it's just because of my family I'm sure—you shouldn't feel slighted, or anything—"

Severus, feeling oddly charitable, shook his head. "I unfortunately had to send Mrs Wilkes my regrets," he said, "as I am unable to get away from the shop that day."

"Oh," Regulus said, his tense grip on his parcel loosening from its visible tightness. "Well, then, that's… what a bit of bad luck, I say."

Severus inclined his head. "Thank you for visiting the apothecary," he said again. "Should Mrs Black find she is low on the ginger required for her potion, we received a fresh batch just yesterday. Please feel free to visit again."

"Yes, thank you, Snape." Regulus headed for the door. "I'll be returning before long, I'm sure. Mothers, you know." The boy flushed again. "Not that—I'm sure—oh Merlin, I'm sorry, I know you—that is, I heard that your—"

Others' discomfort was, truly, endlessly amusing. "Take care, Regulus," Severus said, and, in a flash of embarassed gratitude, the boy fled from the shop.

_

* * *

_

_Dear Martinius:_

_I am so sorry that I shall be unable to join you on the twenty-fifth, as I am unable to arrange time away from my place of employment._

_With many thanks for your kindness in thinking of me,_

_Best wishes,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_I am sure that I do not_

[The above has been crossed out.]

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_I only speak the truth_

[The above has been crossed out.]

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_Not as swe_

[The above has been crossed out.]

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

[The above has been crossed out.]

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all of your reviews-reading them (and all of your kind birthday wishes) made my birthday week truly a delight! I should now be able to return to my regular posting schedule, which means the next chapter (which should be longer) should be posted next Wednesday.

Coming up: Severus' test scores (and the return of the inexplicable giggler).


	10. July 1976, pt 2

**Chapter Nine**  
**July, 1976**

Severus turned out the lights in the front of the shop and trudged up the narrow rear staircase. That afternoon, he'd caught yet another customer attempting to climb the stairs in search of a public W.C. It was, frankly, ludicrous, and he fully intended to ask Master Jigger if he could post a sign near the front door that this establishment did _not_ have—

Severus stopped at the top of the stairs. There were two owls in his window.

Neither animal was Lily's. Both were tawnies.

And they were, without a doubt, Ministry owls.

Severus stepped forward into his kitchen-living-dining room and approached the animals, both of whom lifted their right legs as he neared them. Severus, with a hand that was not at all shaking, reached out and untied the first square envelope.

He pulled out the single sheaf of paper within, which read:

**Ordinary Wizarding Level Results  
**_**  
Pass Grades  
**_Outstanding (O)  
Exceeds Expectations (E)  
Acceptable (A)  
**_Fail Grades  
_**Poor (P)  
Dreadful (D)  
Troll (T)

_**Severus Prince Snape has achieved:  
**_Arithmancy: O  
Astronomy: E  
Charms: O  
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O  
Herbology: O  
History: E  
Potions: O  
Study of Ancient Runes: O  
Transfiguration: I*  
*The student did not complete his OWL examination.

Severus barely glanced at the results—he remembered, of course, what OWLs he had achieved and had no desire to revisit his lacklustre Astronomy and History marks, worthless memorization subjects might they be—and, instead, reached for the second envelope.

He untied it and withdrew:

**Nastily Exhausting Wizard Test Results  
**_**  
Pass Grades  
**_Outstanding (O)  
Exceeds Expectations (E)  
Acceptable (A)  
**_Fail Grades  
_**Poor (P)  
Dreadful (D)  
Troll (T)

_**Severus Prince Snape has achieved:  
**_Arithmancy: O  
Charms: O  
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O  
Herbology: O  
Potions: O*  
Study of Ancient Runes: E  
Transfiguration: O  
*The student holds the record for highest mark in this subject.

Severus surveyed his marks grimly. It seemed he had underperformed on the Ancient Runes examination, much as he had feared; originally, he had achieved a full round of Outstandings. However, holding the record for the highest mark on the Potions N.E.W.T…. _That_ was not something that had happened before. (How close had he come the first time?)

Severus frowned. How disappointing, to have set only one such record. Who could've possibly…? It was irrelevant. And probably for the best, given that holding two such records (or more) might garner _too_ much attention. So.

Regardless, this was (with a few exceptions) the best result he could've hoped for. Surely Master Jigger would have no choice but to accept such a truly exceptional student as his apprentice.

One of the owls gave a low, warning hoot, and Severus set the paper down on the small table and crossed to a kitchen cabinet, from which he pulled out the bag of owl treats he'd purchased for Lily's animal and offered one to each of the Ministry birds. The owls took them daintily and sped out his living room window—just as Lily's owl arrived.

The bag still in hand, Severus gave the new arrival a treat and took the letter tied to his foot. Severus unrolled it and, smirking, read:

_Sev—_

_WELL?_

_Impatiently, Lily_

Severus belatedly remembered that the test results were generally sent to the students early in the day—presumably his results had been delayed by the wards on the shop—and that Lily would've assumed that he'd had his marks for quite some time. He ignored a sudden mental twinge (if they'd been waiting in his windowsill all day he really should've given the owls more than one treat apiece) and headed towards his desk, already formulating his response.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_I trust you're referring to my exam marks? Rest assured; my results were sufficient, if perhaps not quite as exceptional as I might have wished. "Disappointed" is too strong a word; let us say instead "not quite satisfied."_

_But I myself am far more interested in learning if you, Lily, are satisfied with your performance._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

* * *

The next morning, Severus paced up and down the shop, a copy of his N.E.W.T. results in his pocket. It was fifteen to ten; most Wednesdays, Jigger arrived quite early to begin brewing the store's stock potions. Evidently, this was not most Wednesdays.

As Severus turned and began one more circuit, Jigger entered through the rear of the shop and made his customary brisk way to the laboratory staircase with a brusque "Good morning." He had never once sounded like he believed it.

"Good morning," Severus replied. Jigger continued past him, so Severus called, "Master Jigger?"

Jigger stopped near the laboratory stairs and turned around. "Yes?"

"My N.E.W.T. results came yesterday." Severus held out the copy of his results, which Jigger regarded for a brief moment quite as though he'd never seen a piece of parchment before. He blinked and, finally, took the paper from Severus' extended fingers.

A lifetime later, when he had finished reading, Jigger glanced back up to meet Severus' gaze. "Very well," he said, his face, as always, its stolid neutral. "I will begin drawing up the contracts. Once we've both looked them over, I'll send them off to the Ministry for filing. You are, of course, welcome to procure a solicitor to examine them on your behalf."

Severus nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Jigger glanced back down at the parchment. "I can't very well refuse a mark such as this," he said. "I assume you're pleased with yourself."

How kind. "I'm more than pleased to be able to begin my apprenticeship," Severus replied. "I know I have much yet to learn from you."

Jigger's eyes narrowed. "I do not care to reiterate my caution against flattery," he said, thrusting the parchment back towards Severus. "And do not feign modesty; it ill suits you. You've scored better than any other British wizard in the last two hundred years, and you've done it at the age of sixteen."

That was…not entirely accurate, but. "Thank you, sir." Severus folded the parchment and returned it to his pocket.

"You'll note that what I just told you was merely a statement of fact, rather than an obsequious display of adulation," Jigger said. "So, by all means, make another attempt: I assume you're pleased with your N.E.W.T. performance."

It seemed that Jigger's first lesson to his young apprentice was to be one of…social interaction.

The man was far more qualified to teach Potions. Frankly, the man was more qualified to teach Divination, and Severus had (much to his amusement) heard the man decry the discipline on no fewer than three occasions to women who had mistakenly thought the apothecary a supplier for haruspices.

"I am," Severus acknowledged, but Jigger didn't respond—he seemed to be waiting for Severus to continue.

This conversation was well within his capabilities—he had been a triple agent for over a decade, for Merlin's sake—but it still surprised him. He could not, of course, have been more pleased to be Jigger's apprentice, however unfriendly the man might be (and Severus was not wont to be the pot that calls the cauldron). But when Severus gave the man his honest opinion, Jigger accused him of flattery. And so, to obscure the total truth—which Jigger thought was a fabrication—Severus had need of an appropriate partial truth.

"And I am pleased to be able to begin my apprenticeship," he said, "as…my research will be more likely to be taken seriously with your name attached."

Jigger nodded. "Correct, and somewhat insightful." He turned back towards the staircase before he turned around to add, "Of course, you'll need to find a part-time shop assistant. Once you've found a suitable person, we'll sign the contracts."

"Certainly," Severus said. Jigger disappeared down the laboratory stairs.

Severus exhaled in relief, patted the test results in his pocket, and went to open the shop.

* * *

_Oh Sev,_

_What does that mean "sufficient" but "dissatisfied"? Let me guess—you got an E in something? You hold yourself to impossible standards, you realise. Just please, please tell me if you've done well enough in Potions to please Master Jigger? I'M __SURE__ you have but I am just so excited/worried/nervous for you…_

_And as for me, yes! I shouldn't've worried—I got the mark I needed in Herbology after all (better than, actually, if I may say so)… I'll be able to take all the NEWT classes I need! Potions, Charms, Herbology, Transfigs… I think I'll also carry on with Defence, even though it's not required for even St. Mungo's program, because, well, you know. And I'll have to chat with Professor McGonagall but I think it might be a good idea to carry on with Ancient Runes and History, since it may help to understand the older diseases…that is if I can handle the course load!_

_You must tell me how it goes with Master Jigger,_

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

__Diagon Alley, London_

_Slug & Jigger's Apothecary  
_

_Ministry of Magic  
__Division of Magical Education  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_To Whom it Concerns:_

_I am inquiring as to the current record-holder for highest mark in the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. I have enclosed a self-addressed envelope and await your return owl._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

* * *

When Severus entered his flat the next evening, he was surprised to see a scroll of parchment on his table. Unrolling it, he immediately recognized Jigger's overly-tidy handwriting from the shop ledgers, and a brief glance revealed the document to be a standard apprenticeship contract, much resembling the one he himself had entered into under Master Rotislavic.

A note attached to the scroll read, "SS: Please approve by end of this week. You are welcome to send to a solicitor. A.J." Severus briefly entertained a twinge of annoyance that Jigger had, evidently, been in his flat without his knowledge, but waved it aside in favour of reading the contract.

It was, indeed, standard; as Jigger's apprentice, Severus' stipend would be raised from three to five Galleons a week, and his room and board would still be provided for. His duties in the shop would change from Tuesday through Sunday to merely Saturdays and Sundays, and he would continue to have Mondays free. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be devoted to brewing the stock potions, and—to Severus' satisfaction—Wednesdays and Fridays would be for his own education and research. In addition, he would have free access to the laboratory in the evenings.

The contract also contained the standard clauses regarding published material (to be credited to "A. Jigger and S. Snape," with the exception of Severus' Mastery project, which would be "S. Snape under A. Jigger") and length of apprenticeship (five years, or until the completion of a Mastery project as accepted by the International Board of Potioneers). Altogether the contract was agreeable; Severus scribbled as such on the back of Jigger's note and set the parchment aside to return to Jigger in the morning.

* * *

_Division of Magical Education  
__Ministry of Magic  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_Enclosed you will find a list of the current record-holders for the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. I have also taken the liberty of including the list of record-holders for the Potions N.E.W.T., as I thought that might also be of interest to you._

_Congratulations on your achievements!_

_Kindest regards,_

_Malfalda Hopkirk  
__Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education_

_**Highest Achievements in the N.E.W.T. for Defence Against the Dark Arts  
**__As of 20 July, 1976_

_1. Albus Dumbledore (1899)  
__2. [Redacted]  
__3. Severus Snape (1976)  
__4. Alastor Moody (1938)  
__5. Arsenius Jigger (1923)_

_**Highest Achievements in the N.E.W.T. for Potions  
**__As of 20 July, 1976_

_1. Severus Snape (1976)  
__2. Arsenius Jigger (1923)  
__3. Belvina Black (1904)  
__4. Libatius Borage (1873)  
5. __Terence Boot (1968)_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_To satisfy your curiosity, I have enclosed a copy of my test results. I'm afraid you have me sussed; I am indeed somewhat dissatisfied with my performance on the Ancient Runes examination._

_Congratulations on your Outstanding Herbology O.W.L. (and, no doubt, the many other Outstandings to your name). I've long held the utmost faith in your academic abilities and am confident that you will succeed at any and all courses in which you enrol for next year._

_I have indeed spoken with Master Jigger and, to my satisfaction, he is amenable to my undertaking an apprenticeship with him. _

_Best regards,_

_Severus_

* * *

Three days had gone by in which Severus and Jigger had not spoken more than a dozen words to each other, and Severus found himself growing increasingly ill-at-ease. Since his belated realisation that yes, of course, his achieving the top record in the potions N.E.W.T. meant he was ousting the previous record-holder—and his discovery that the previous record-holder had been, in fact, his new mentor—Severus had been unsure as to how to approach the man about his impending apprenticeship.

Feeling an odd compulsion to prove himself worthy of his mark, Severus had spent the previous evenings drafting a proposal for his research—which would, with any luck (or rather skill) solve his disposal-of-Horcruxes problem—and had even copied the outline onto fresh parchment with a new dicta-quill (Jigger was none too fond of Severus'…unique handwriting). And now, well after closing, Severus was wiping the spotless counter for the umpteenth time, waiting for Master Jigger to emerge from the as-yet-unseen laboratory.

Finally, the door opened, and Severus renewed his pointless wiping with vigour. "Good evening, Master Jigger," he said, stilling his hand.

"Good evening," Jigger returned, closing the laboratory door behind him.

Severus extracted his proposal from his pocket. "I've completed my proposal for the trajectory of my research," he said, "up to and including my Mastery project." He held out the roll of parchment.

Jigger peered down at it. "Have you secured a replacement shopkeeper?" he asked simply.

Severus withdrew his hand slightly. "Not, ah, not yet—"

"Then I suggest you do so, so that we might sign our contracts and you might begin your research," Jigger said. "Good evening, Mr Snape."

Jigger walked away from Severus' research proposal and out the back door.

Once his rage at the injustice of it all had subsided, Severus flipped over the parchment, transfigured it to a stiffer paper stock, and used the till quill to write out _HELP WANTED_.

Severus stuck the new sign in the shop window and, kicking the counter as he passed it, went upstairs for the night.

* * *

_Sev—_

_Oh my GOD, congratulations! I am completely unsurprised but so very proud of you. The RECORD HOLDER for the Potions NEWT? Amazing. I wonder if anyone we know holds the records in the other subjects?_

_Anyway it's no wonder Jigger agreed to take you on, with a mark like that (which is of course completely deserved). I'm so excited. When do you think you'll be able to begin? _

_So, so, excited for you,_

_Love from_

_Lily_

* * *

"Are you…are you hiring?"

Severus glanced up from the till. The speaker, the only other person currently in the shop, was a man older than Severus was currently but younger than he had been, who was now looking at him with an idiotically hopeful expression on his doughy face.

"Yes," Severus said. "We're in need of a new assistant shopkeeper."

"I can do that," the man said immediately.

"May I ask what your qualifications are, Mr…?"

"Felix."

Severus blinked. "All right, Mr Felix. May I ask what your qualifications are?"

Felix snorted. "Not sure what you mean."

"Do you hold a Potions N.E.W.T., for example."

In the month or so that Severus had been working in he shop, he had decided that, rather than an Order of Merlin, what he truly deserved was an Order of Patience. This particular man, he gauged, should earn him at _least_ a second-class medal.

"Why would I need a Potions N.E.W.T. to work in a shop?" Felix asked.

Severus pressed two fingers to his right temple and, rotating them clockwise, said, "Mr Felix, if you don't know Potions how can you possibly expect to work as a Potions supplier?"

"I can work a till."

"Do go on."

Felix shrugged. "Used to work the August rush at Quality Quidditch."

"'Used to'?" Severus echoed.

"Yes, well, it was seasonal, you know."

"I see," Severus said. "And this was regularly, or…?"

"Well, once," Felix said. "In, er, would've been '63."

"_Nineteen_ sixty-three?" Severus repeated drily. When Felix merely blinked at him, Severus sighed and said, "Mr Felix, what have you been doing for the last thirteen years?"

Felix shrugged. "You know. This and that."

"Ah, but I _don't_ know," Severus said. "Pray tell."

"Listen, kid," Felix said, his eyes sudden narrowing. "I get that you're taking the mick and that's your priorgative. Why don't you just tell me when your boss will be here so I can talk to him about the job, eh?"

"'Priorgative'?" Severus repeated.

"Yes. It means 'duty.'"

Severus closed his eyes and considered Vanishing the man on the spot.

"So when can I come by and speak to your boss, then?" Felix said, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

"Alas," Severus said, "Master Jigger has entrusted the hiring of my assistant entirely to me."

"What teenager needs an assistant, _pray tell_?" Felix asked.

"I am Master Jigger's new apprentice, and we need someone to work in the shop. I hate to disappoint you" (he didn't) "but that person will not, I'm afraid," (he wasn't) "be you, as you have no qualifications."

"The sign didn't say anything about qualifications," Felix pointed out.

Severus counted to five.

"Yes, well, that is my…'priorgative,' was it?"

Felix glared at him. "You think you're funny?"

"Occasionally."

"Go to hell, kid," Felix said and, with a passable sneer, stormed out of the shop.

"Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said quietly, and made a mental note to send an advertisement to the newspaper.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_You may be interested to know that the Headmaster, unsurprisingly, holds the highest Defence N.E.W.T. mark._

_As for my apprenticeship, Master Jigger has informed me that I may begin as soon as we (meaning I) have found a suitable part-time shopkeeper to be my replacement. Look out for the job listing in tomorrow's _Prophet_ and kindly wish me luck in locating such a replacement as quickly as possible._

_Best regards,_

_Severus_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_Your assistance last week was most welcome to both myself and my mother. Mrs Black sends her regards to both you and Mr Jigger, and fully intends to speak highly of you to Mr Jigger herself when next she visits the Apothecary in person._

_Mrs Black would also like to inquire as to your plans for the future, and if they are to involve tutoring. I find myself in need of additional instruction in the fine art of Potions. If you are amenable, please let me know, and I will have Mr Black owl you to discuss the financial arrangements._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Regulus Black_

* * *

"Hello, Severus."

Severus, currently levitating so that he might dust the highest shelf of bottles, replied, "One moment, please." He set the last bottle down and, floating to the ground, said, "Yes, how may I be of assistance?"

He turned around and found himself face-to-face with a familiar-looking teenaged girl. "I've come about the position," she said, smiling demurely, and then it clicked into place.

She was the inexplicably giggling seventh-year Slytherin with whom he'd been roped into dancing on his last night at Hogwarts. The one called…Merlin, the one called…

"Miss Greengrass," Severus said. "What a pleasant surprise."

Greengrass tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's lovely to see you," she said. "I saw your notice in the _Prophet_, and, well, I've not got anything lined up just yet, and I did get an E on my Potions N.E.W.T., so…"

"Congratulations," Severus said, inclining his head.

Greengrass had the audacity to _blush_. "Oh, I couldn't've done it without you, I'm sure."

She probably couldn't have. "I'm certain that's not true," he replied smoothly. "Now, may I ask what it is about working at the apothecary that particularly interests you?"

Greengrass shrugged. "Oh, you know. The opportunity to work with…people."

That was not an opportunity that Severus himself relished (or, truly, more than barely tolerated), but he supposed Greengrass might be one of those incomprehensible people who enjoyed others' company. "I see," he said. "Well, if you'll leave me a copy of your CV I will go over it with my employer. If he is amenable, we will owl you for an interview."

Greengrass smiled and shook her head. "I'm so sorry, I don't have one with me. My CV, I mean."

Severus waved a hand. "No matter. You may owl one to my attention here."

Greengrass reached into her handbag and pulled out a quill and a scrap of parchment. "Let me leave you my floo address," she said, scribbling. "In case you need to contact me."

Severus frowned. "That's not necessary," he said. "It's no trouble to wait for your owl."

Greengrass handed him the parchment. "Well, just in case, then." She smiled at him.

Severus glanced at the parchment—"Evelyn Greengrass, Greengrass Gables"—and back up at the girl. "Please do send your CV and we will be in touch," he said.

"Lovely," said Greengrass. "Will I…will you be at Marty's party?"

Severus shook his head. "Alas, my duties here prevent me from attending. Do send him my regards, if you will."

Greengrass nodded. "I will. We'll talk soon?"

Severus nodded—what else could he do?—and Greengrass exited the shop.

He crumpled her parchment and Vanished it, marvelling at the remarkable lack of planning demonstrated by a person who went to apply for a position without a copy of her CV.

* * *

_Dear Sev,_

_Yes, I saw the listing in the _Prophet_. Honestly, Sev. "No dunderheads need apply"? Really?_

_Love from_

_Lily _

_

* * *

_

_WANTED: PART-TIME SHOPKEEPER_

_Slug & Jigger's Apothecary, Diagon Alley. Must hold 'E' Potions N.E.W.T. or have equivalent knowledge. Minimum three years' retail experience required. Should have a pleasant but not overly-buoyant demeanour. No dunderheads need apply. Contact Severus Snape, Slug & Jigger's._

* * *

With each passing day, Severus' now ever-present headache increased as he entertained job seeker after underqualified job seeker. Either they knew nothing of potions, or they were unwilling to work more than three days, or fewer than five days, or they were obnoxious cretins.

Three were obnoxious cretins who knew nothing of potions _and_ refused to work more than three days a week.

Thus far, two candidates had seemed promising, but both had balked at the low pay Jigger was willing to offer (a notion that Severus found vaguely insulting, as it was far more than he himself earned for his position at the shop), and every applicant, qualified or no, had been rather put off by Severus' apparent age. The experience had been, altogether, almost as frustrating as attempting to teach double Potions to a Slytherin/Gryffindor class containing the Weasley twins.

And so Severus was not feeling precisely chipper as he straightened the stock and prepared for closing, and then the shop's door opened and Martinius Wilkes walked in.

Severus briefly considered Disillusioning himself and running upstairs.

"Lovely," Wilkes said. "I was afraid you'd closed already."

"Not quite," Severus said, stepping away from the shelves. "How may I be of assistance?"

Wilkes leaned on the counter. "We missed you at the party," he said. "Practically all of Slytherin above fifth year was there. Frankly I started to feel insulted—it was my party and all I heard was 'Where's Snape, where's Snape?'"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "For some reason I doubt that."

Wilkes shrugged. "All right, perhaps not. But a certain Miss Evelyn Greengrass _did_ mention that she had recently seen you."

"Yes, she applied for a position here."

Wilkes left out a single bark of laughter. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry. Did I hear correctly that Evvie Greengrass _applied for a position here_?"

"Yes," Severus said, refusing to roll his eyes.

Wilkes smirked. "I heard she didn't have any marriage prospects, but honestly, a _shopgirl_. No offense meant to you, of course."

"Of course," Severus repeated drily.

"I trust your N.E.W.T. results were satisfactory?" Wilkes asked.

"Quite," Severus replied. "I will begin my apprenticeship as soon as I am able to acquire a weekday shopkeeper."

"Are you going to hire Greengrass?" Wilkes said, amusement evident in his voice.

Severus let his distaste for that prospect show in his face, and Wilkes laughed. "Right," Wilkes said. "I can't blame you."

Severus nodded and, following social protocol, inquired, "I assume you were pleased with the outcome of your N.E.W.T.s?"

Wilkes nodded. "Of course. I was glad to receive them before the party, as they gave me even more to celebrate."

Severus crushed the feeling of foreboding that crept up his spine and said, "I'm glad to hear it." Seeing Wilkes glance around the shop, Severus added, "And how may I be of assistance this evening?"

"Do you carry burn salve?" Wilkes asked, his tone just a touch too casual.

Severus—who was, of course, much more experienced in such matters than Wilkes—nodded and smoothly replied, "Certainly. Would you prefer a paste or poultice?"

"A paste, I think."

Severus crossed the room and located a jar of burn salve—which was, not incidentally, also what he prescribed for healing fresh tattoos—which he showed to Wilkes, who nodded. "Will that be all?" Severus asked.

Wilkes nodded, and Severus rang up his purchase. Transaction completed, Severus handed Wilkes the salve and his receipt. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said.

"Thank you for the salve," Wilkes replied. "Take care, Severus."

"And you," Severus replied.

Wilkes nodded and left the shop.

* * *

_Dear Mr Black,_

_I am most flattered to receive such a missive from you and your esteemed family. Unfortunately, my commitments to the Apothecary and as Master Jigger's apprentice prevent me from such an undertaking._

_I am confident that Professor Slughorn will be able to recommend a more suitable instructor._

_With many thanks for your kindness in thinking of me,_

_Very sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_You would be amazed at how incapable people are of adhering to the barest minimum of requirements for a position._

_Exasperatedly,_

_Severus_

* * *

Severus had been on the cusp of abandoning all hope that he would find a more suitable applicant than the over-friendly and under-qualified Miss Greengrass, when, finally, a somewhat promising owl arrived for him from a Miss Sheridan Cadogan. One of the few applicants who went to the trouble of including both a cover letter and CV, Cadogan's missive explained that, although she had been working in the Muggle world for the four years since she left Hogwarts, she had been an avid Potions student—she'd enclosed a copy of her N.E.W.T. results, which testified by means of her 'O' in Potions—and that she continued to keep up with the Potions quarterlies.

That, by itself, was better than anything he'd read thus far, and so he'd owled the woman for an interview at closing time.

She was punctual—she turned out to be tall for a woman, with short light hair (unusual for a witch) and a tight smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Snape," she said, shaking his hand.

"Likewise. Won't you please have a seat." Severus guided her to the rear of the shop, where he'd Summoned a chair from his flat next to the desk's chair. Once they'd both been seated, Severus pulled out her letter. "Miss Cadogan," Severus said, "let me begin by saying that I find your Potions background to be adequate for this position, providing you still retain most of the knowledge you acquired in your Hogwarts days."

Cadogan smiled. "Given that it was only four years ago, let us hope so."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said. "But please, allow me to ask what has inspired you to seek employment in the Wizarding world, after a four-year absence?"

Cadogan nodded—it seemed she had anticipated Severus' line of questioning. "I'm a musician," she explained. "When I left Hogwarts, I was hired by an orchestra in Ulster—I don't know if you know about Muggles culture…?"

"A bit," Severus replied. Of course, that "bit" had been acquired from his father, and as such had never included classical music, but.

"Unfortunately the BBC dissolved the orchestra several months ago," Cadogan continued. "And my husband—he's a violist—he's now with the London Philharmonic, but I haven't had as much luck. And since, aside from my music, I've not any qualifications for working in the Muggle world…" Cadogan spread her hands in a _so there you have it_ gesture.

"Your husband," Severus repeated. "Is he…?"

"A violist," Cadogan said again.

Of course, Cadogan's refusal to answer the question most certainly indicated that her husband was, in fact, a Muggle, but Severus still felt his opinion of her rise slightly at her polite defiance. "Do you also play viola?" he found himself asking.

"The cello, actually."

"I see." Severus regarded Cadogan for a long moment. "How is your wordless casting?" he asked.

Cadogan drew her wand and flicked it at a quill on the desk, sending it upwards with a _leviosa_. "Anything more complicated?" Severus asked, his eyes fixed on the quill, which, a moment later, turned bright green, shrank, and drifted back down to the desk.

Severus turned back to Cadogan. "I hope Master Jigger wasn't overly fond of that quill," he said drily. When Cadogan merely shrugged, Severus smirked.

"If I came into the shop," he said, "and asked you for valerian, sopophorous bean, and asphodel, what would your response be?"

"I would also sell you wormwood," Cadogan replied, "but not until after I'd asked you if you had a license to brew the Draught of Living Death."

Severus nodded. "As I would hope. Well, Miss Cadogan—or, I beg your pardon, Mrs Cadogan?"

Cadogan smiled. "It's Ms Cadogan. Socially, I'm Mrs Graves."

That, more than anything, clinched his suspicion that Cadogan was Muggle-born. "Well, Ms Cadogan," he said, "do you have any questions about the position—the duties, compensation, anything that was unclear in my owl?"

Cadogan nodded. "You explained that it is a Monday through Thursday position. I assume the hours are the shop's hours?"

When Severus nodded, Cadogan said, "Then I suppose my only question is why you're seeking a replacement. Are you headed back to Hogwarts?" When Severus shook his head, Cadogan added, "I apologise if I offend—it's just that you look rather young. Are you finished with school, then?"

Severus smirked. "Indeed. I am to begin my apprenticeship under Master Jigger, and as such, I will no longer be able to work the shop weekdays."

"Congratulations, then."

"Thank you. If you have no other questions?" Cadogan shook her head. "Then my thanks to you for your visit this evening. I will be speaking with Master Jigger and we should have a response for you by the end of this week."

They rose, shook hands, and Cadogan departed.

Severus locked the shop's front door behind her, turned off the lights, and, relief slowly building somewhere near his diaphragm, sat heavily on the floor.

Severus fell back, lay against the stone floor—he _really_ needed to cast a sweeping charm—and allowed himself to almost entertain the possibility that, at some point in the future, he might be able to consider being somewhat hopeful.

* * *

_Oh Sev,_

_I'm not sure whom I pity more—you, or your poor, misguided applicants._

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews! I've noticed a common theme, which is that Severus, bless his heart, needs to stop being so formal with…everyone in his life. Fear not; he's working on it.

On another note, I first started typing this story out, in miniscule letters, into my smartphone. The very first file—which is a different-perspective version of the prologue of this story—is dated November of last year. Happy one-year anniversary!

A few recommendations for my dear readers, to hold you over til next Wednesday:

_His Own Man_, by Crunchysunrises, is a WIP featuring a Second Chance Harry. And although I first "met" this story well after my Severus decided to sit his NEWTs early, I had not yet decided that the Ministry would inform him exactly how well he'd scored (an event that occurs in _His Own Man_). And so, this story owes a small debt to Crunchysunrises'.

I might also reiterate that Sindie's _The Moment It Began_ was, without a doubt, the inspiration for this story, and if you've not yet read it, you ought to! (I warn you: you will not want to stop reading til you've finished it, so wait til the weekend!)

Finally, on an extra-fandom note, those of you who enjoy my Severus (or any Severus!) would most likely enjoy _Johannes Cabal the Necromancer _by Jonathan L. Howard, whose title character somewhat resembles, in personality, everyone's favourite Potions Master.

Coming up: A shopkeeper is hired and Severus rectifies an injustice.


	11. August 1976, pt 1

****

Chapter Ten  
**August, 1976**

Severus had just locked the front door of the shop when Jigger emerged from the laboratory. The older man muttered a quiet "good evening"—Severus idly wondered what had caused him to be in such a buoyant mood—and headed towards the back alley entrance. Severus hastily followed him, calling, "Master Jigger?"

Jigger stopped next to a barrel of serpent scales. "Yes?"

Severus caught up. "Have you had a moment to look at the applicant I recommended?"

He certainly had; Severus had left him all of the information two _days_ previously.

Jigger stared impassively down (_damn_ his sixteen-year-old's height) at Severus. "Yes," Jigger said. "The Muggle-born, was it?"

Severus suppressed an irrational burst of irritation. "The musician, yes."

Jigger's left eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. "Yes. Cardigan?"

Honestly. "Cadogan."

"Yes. Cadogan." Jigger's expression remained Occlusively passive as he said, "She's not qualified." And with that dismissal, he resumed his path towards the back of the shop.

Severus followed. "She knows more about potions than any other applicant," he said.

Jigger stopped in front of the door. "Does she?"

"Yes."

Jigger snorted. "Then I'd hate to see the other applicants."

He had no idea. "She knows more than enough to be able to help customers," Severus said. "And were she uncertain, she would be easily able to consult me, as I'd be just one floor away, in the laboratory."

"And if you were unable to step away from a volatile potion?" Jigger demanded.

Severus' irritation finally broke through and he found himself retorting, "In the unlikely scenario in which I would be unable to cast a stasis charm, the customer could bloody well _wait_."

Jigger's eyes narrowed. "If you think you can cast a stasis charm on any—"

"Stasis charms cannot be cast on potions with time-sensitive ingredients, including, but not limited to, moondew, wolfsbane, or Mooncalf dung—nor on potions affecting time, such as the Ageing Potion or any of the Everlasting—"

"Yes, thank you," Jigger cut in. (Severus ignored the strange compulsion to adjust his glasses.) "Very well. Putting aside that she has no Potions background other than, I believe, that 'she reads the quarterlies,' there's the matter that she has no retail experience whatsoever." Jigger regarded Severus and flatly added, "I believe it was you who argued for a required two years' minimum experience?"

"Nobody with usable Potions knowledge would consent to spending two years in retail," Severus snapped.

They looked at each other.

"Fine," Jigger said at last. "If she's inadequate, you'll dismiss her, and you'll be back behind the counter until you find a suitable replacement."

"Agreed," Severus said coolly.

Jigger raised an eyebrow. "Have her start Monday, Apprentice Snape," he said, just as frostily, and then he left the shop.

Severus locked up after him and, annoyance and cautious satisfaction struggling for dominance somewhere near his sternum, stomped up the stairs to his flat.

* * *

_Dear Ms Cadogan:_

_I am pleased to offer you the position of Part-Time Shopkeeper of Slug & Jigger's Apothecary. As previously discussed, this position's hours are Tuesday through Friday, 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., with one half-hour for lunch. Compensation is 15s/hour._

_If you are amenable, please sign and return the enclosed contract, and we will see you on the morning of Tuesday, 3 August._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_Fear not; I have, at last, obtained a suitable part-time shopkeeper. She seems to be a moderately competent human being; let us hope she lasts._

_I do hope your summer continues to pass pleasantly, and that you have managed to avoid strangling your sister._

_Best,_

_Severus_

* * *

Severus, in the midst of polishing the counter, suddenly became aware of an unusual noise emanating from somewhere to his right.

Severus glanced up. He hadn't imagined it; Jigger was standing in the laboratory doorway, and he was…clearing his throat.

"Yes?" Severus asked, stilling his wand.

"If you have finished closing the shop," Jigger said, "I'd…like to show you around the laboratory."

Severus immediately slipped his wand into his sleeve. "Certainly," he said.

Jigger nodded, and, finally, Severus followed him down the stairs and into the laboratory.

The room, like the shop above, was long and narrow; unlike the shop above, it was antiseptically clean, with none of the ingredients-borne old-pantry smell, and Severus found himself breathing ever so slightly more easily. He stepped away from the staircase and took in the spotless countertops lining the walls; the cauldron rack hanging from the ceiling; the two industrial-sized sinks; the three work tables in the centre of the room; and the two doors at the opposite end of the laboratory, which—he estimated—would lead to the hot and cold storerooms.

"This is an excellently appointed laboratory," Severus said, turning to Jigger.

To his surprise, Jigger snorted. "Compared to the student laboratory at Hogwarts, anything would be," he said, and Severus cursed inwardly and belatedly reminded himself that, no, he had never been to Munich, or Paris, or New York…

Severus affected a small smile. "Indeed."

Jigger indicated the left storeroom with a jerk of his hand. "Cold storage," he said, and, pointing to the right storeroom, added, "Warm storage." He gestured toward the lantern affixed to the wall near the foot of the staircase and said, "Should your new shopkeeper pull the cord at the top of the stairs, this lantern will flare green. Do try to head upstairs shortly after it does so."

Severus nodded, and Jigger took a few steps toward the staircase. "You will not," he said, "brew anything non-standard without consulting me. You will not brew anything both non-standard _and_ potentially toxic without my presence. Is that clear?"

"Certainly," Severus replied.

Jigger pointed at the work table closest to the staircase. "That is your station," he said. "You will maintain it in perfect order."

"Of course."

"Very well. Then…" Jigger began mounting the stairs. "Good evening."

Severus watched Jigger's ascension until the man was out of sight. He turned to his new work station and spread his fingers across the smooth stone countertop. After a moment, Severus turned and walked down the length of the laboratory to the storage rooms.

He assembled the ingredients for Felix Felicis and brought them—along with a spotless, smooth iron cauldron—back to his table.

* * *

_Dear Sev,_

_Aww, I'll have to tell Tuney you're asking after her._

…_kidding obviously. Seriously? I have basically had it up to __here__ with her. She _finally_ met some boy at a local pub—he was in town for some dull-as-doorknobs business conference—and he's perfectly hideous. I would say "at least he treats her well" but all I can say for him is that he takes her out to nice dinners (which are totally lost on her since she doesn't __eat__)._

_Anyway all she talks about is "Vern this, Vern that" and it's nauseating._

_So tell me more about your new shopkeeper? Are you her BOSS?_

_Love from_

_Lily_

* * *

Severus stood behind Cadogan and silently observed as she interacted with their few Tuesday afternoon customers.

It was, he reflected, even duller than speaking with the customers himself—and standing _next_ to the door to the laboratory, while unable to enter through it and begin brewing, was beyond frustrating.

Fortunately, Cadogan looked the part of shopkeeper more than he did—the woman was, admittedly, capable of smiling, and she somehow seemed less dishevelled than he in her uniform work robes. But he had had to step in thrice thus far to keep her from mis-totaling a purchase, or forgetting to offer a receipt, or _inaccurately weighing_ a handful of newt tails (which was dangerously shoddy potioneering). But she seemed to be learning, if slowly, and Severus felt confident that he'd be able to leave the storefront for the laboratory within a few days.

"Pepperup Potion? Yes, I think that'd be fine to take concurrently with a Fever Reducer."

Severus sighed and upgraded his estimate to "within the week" as he stepped forward to prevent their customer from burning himself alive.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_She's called Cadogan and I overestimated her._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus_

* * *

A week later, Severus sat on a stool next to his work station—a cauldronful of Felix merrily bubbling away on the far flame—as Jigger eased himself onto the stool opposite and, sliding a parchment booklet across the table to Severus, said, "I've outlined your next year's study here. It's rather loose, so that we might spend more time on the particular areas that interest you."

Severus nodded and flipped through the pages quickly. When he had finished, he looked back up at Jigger. "And we'll be doing original research simultaneously, or…?"

Jigger frowned. "You won't be embarking on your 'original' research until you've passed your QUAILs, of course."

"QUAILs?" Severus repeated.

"Yes, your Quintessentially Unpleasant Area-Intensive Levels," Jigger said. "As is standard for British potioneers, and as was laid out in your contract. Which you did, I trust, read."

Severus had, in fact, read the entirety of his contract, but had dismissed the exams as a formality. "So we'll begin my research after I've sat my QUAILs?"

"Yes, yes," Jigger replied testily.

"I see," Severus said. "Shall I make an appointment with the Ministry for, shall we say, mid-September?"

"Whatever for?" Jigger said, now outright scowling.

"For taking my QUAILs," Severus said. "Unless we don't need to register with the Ministry…?"

"Yes, you'll need to register with the Ministry. When you take your exams. Which you will, with sufficient hard work on your part, next July."

Severus felt the muscles along his jawline tense up. "'Next July'?" he repeated.

"Yes, Mr Snape, next July. A year from now." Jigger glared at him from across the table. "You did, I trust, _read_ your contract before you signed it?"

"Of course," Severus snapped. "I simply—" He inhaled and exhaled slowly. "I had rather hoped to expedite the examination process."

"There will be no expedition," Jigger said, his nostrils flaring. "The Ministry mandated time is _one year_, as it has been for every English potioneer since 1643."

Severus had not, originally, been apprenticed to an English master. Since Rotislavic had used Severus primarily as a brewing factory, the man had allowed him to set his own schedule—and Severus distinctly remembered having worked on his own research as often as he could, as early as he could. But given that, at the time, he had been rather occupied with being a servant to the Dark Lord, he could not remember when he'd taken his QUAILs. Presumably, the answer was "whenever he bloody well got around to it."

"Read up on the theories listed on the first page," Jigger said pointedly. "We will discuss them tomorrow. I trust you will have no further objections?"

Severus shook his head, and Jigger rose from his stool. "Then we will meet again tomorrow morning," he said. "Which reminds me. Did you finish the batch of Calming Draught?"

When Severus nodded, Jigger said, "Good," and headed up out of the laboratory.

Severus stared down at the year's worth of lessons that stood between him and a Horcrux disposal solution.

He stopped himself short of a wordless, wandless Incendio.

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_Oh, you poor thing, having to work with a mere mortal! I'm sure she's perfectly competent. She's just not __perfect__. The nerve of her, really! (- Please note sarcasm.)_

_And wait, wait, does this mean you've been able to start working with Master Jigger? WHAT is he like when you're learning from him? Have you discovered the Next Big Thing In Potions yet? Please tell me you have so I can brag about you to Petunia, because frankly if she tells me one more word about the Dreaded Vern's middle management expertise I will hex her hair out._

_Love from_

_Lily_

* * *

The following afternoon, Severus was preparing ingredients—Jigger had ordered him, as a "review," to brew the antidote to an "unidentified poison" (which was obviously a draft of Weedosoros)—with Jigger half-observing, half-brewing his own potion at the next work station.

Severus began mincing a small tray of billywig stings and, flipping the knife over, began crushing the sting ends with the flat of the blade. Almost immediately, Jigger was on his feet. "Explain yourself," he said, standing beside Severus' table.

"These are drier stings," Severus said. "But the ends still retain a bit of moisture, which is exuded more readily when crushed with the flat of—"

"What makes you think this antidote requires more moisture?" Jigger said.

"It's Fire Seed-based," Severus replied. Obviously.

Jigger frowned, nodded, and returned to his table. Severus resumed preparing the stings.

When he had finished, he set them aside and picked up a graphorn horn, which he pulverized with a quick tap of his wand, and set the powder—

"Explain."

Severus glanced up from his powdered horn. "I'm starting with the antidote to uncommon poisons base," he said.

"Why would you _ever_ use your wand to prepare an ingredient, Mr Snape?" Jigger said, his eyes fixed on Severus.

"This antidote works primarily on a purely chemical level," Severus said. "Moreover, pulverizing the horn does not alter it on a magical _or_ chemical level, but merely enables it to be more easily dissolved."

Jigger nodded. "Carry on."

Severus set the horn aside and, placing a low-sided cauldron over a medium flame, proceeded to dry-toast half a dozen Fire Seeds. He shook the cauldron in a smooth, circular motion, and when the seeds were evenly toasted, he took the—

"Mr Snape."

Severus' growing annoyance at being repeatedly interrupted reached its peak. "I'm dry-toasting the seeds because, _as you know_, Fire Seeds react poorly to being cooked, from raw, in liquid." He took the cauldron off the flame and set it on a cool section of his work table. "Master Jigger, haven't you repeatedly stressed the importance of _not_ interrupting a potioneer mid-brew?"

Jigger raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that you lack the concentration to answer my questions as you prepare the ingredients for a _standard_ antidote?"

Severus turned to face him. "I am _implying_ that it is unnecessary, and distracting, to repeatedly ask me questions to which any potioneer with a basic grasp of theory knows the answer. More than that, it is _insulting_."

Jigger paused, his expression unreadable. "Mr Snape," he said at last, "may I remind you that I do not _know_ how well you know your Potions theory, and I cannot unless I ask. More importantly, you are taking shortcuts, and unless I ask after your reasoning, I cannot know if you are a clever potioneer or if you are merely lazy. If it is the latter, you are all too likely to blow yourself up, and take my expensive laboratory with you."

Severus, his hackles only slightly soothed by Jigger's use of the word "clever," nodded, and reached for a fresh cauldron.

"But Mr Snape, when you interrupted _me_, I had not been about to ask you a question."

Severus turned back to Jigger. "No?"

"I had been about to tell you that, starting tomorrow, you will tie your hair back while you are in my laboratory."

Severus chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"It's a question of hygiene," Jigger continued. "And you will cast more frequent cleaning charms on your spectacles. I won't have the purity of my shop's potions compromised due to your…personal habits."

Severus stared at Jigger. When the man made no move other than to continue to look expectant, Severus lifted his wand and tapped first the back of his head—he felt a twinge as his hair snagged on his newly-conjured elastic—and then the side of his glasses.

"Good," Jigger said. "Continue."

Severus turned the flame on under the cauldron, which he imagined as Jigger's self-important head.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_I have not yet been able to start any original research, as Master Jigger seems to be under the impression that I will first need to sit my QUAILs. Frustratingly, he has thus far insisted that I spend a year preparing for them, which is, of course, nonsense. I'm fully confident I could earn top marks if I sat the exams in two weeks. He seems to enjoy finding fault in the mildest offense and is an entirely unpleasant person; regardless of his Potions acumen he is by no means qualified to teach. I am now unsurprised that he has never before taken an apprentice._

_Don't hex your sister's hair out. Hex her repulsive boyfriend's instead._

_Or Master Jigger's. (Please note __lack__ of sarcasm.)_

_Sincerely,_

_Severus_

* * *

"Oh, good," Cadogan said, as Severus emerged from the laboratory. "Jigger wanted to speak to us both."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And Jigger would be…"

Cadogan shrugged. "He said he'd be back. He did not, quote, 'have all evening to await Mr Snape's arrival.'"

"Charming," Severus said drily.

"I think he'll be back before too long," Cadogan said. "If he doesn't, he'll owe me overtime."

"You don't get overtime."

"If he doesn't come back soon," Cadogan said grimly, "I'll ask for it."

"_Bon chance_, Ms Cadogan."

The rear door to the shop opened, and both employees silently watched Jigger make his way towards the counter. "Excellent," Jigger said flatly. "I wished to speak to you both about scheduling for the next two weeks."

Cadogan crossed her arms. "Is something the matter, Mr Jigger?"

Severus smirked inwardly at the way Jigger seemed to flinch each time Cadogan called him "mister."

"Merely the impending arrival of September first, Ms Cadogan," Jigger said. "We are sure to shortly experience the August rush." When neither Severus nor Cadogan reacted, Jigger continued, "Given that neither of you has any Diagon experience, you may be unaware that this shop—as all shops—experiences an extreme uptick in business in the weeks preceding the new academic year at Hogwarts. Not only do the children come in for supplies, but their parents accompany them and often see it fit to do their own shopping while they're here."

"So…scheduling?" Cadogan prompted.

"Quite. Severus, I'll need both you _and_ Ms Cadogan in the shop over the next two weeks. And Monday, I'll need you downstairs, brewing, so that we might keep our stock supplied."

"You'll need me on the weekends?" Cadogan asked.

"Yes."

"Then I want overtime."

Severus glanced sharply at Cadogan before he could stop himself. Jigger, to his amazement, snorted. "Fine," Jigger said. "You'll get time and a quarter on Saturday and Sunday."

To Severus' left, Cadogan smirked.

"And I'll be brewing on my day off?" Severus asked.

Jigger's expression turned from one of slight amusement to one of annoyance. "Yes," he said. "If you must, you may have a day off of your choosing. After September first."

Severus felt a snarl of frustration rise in his chest. "I don't mean to insist—"

Jigger waved a hand. "Regardless. I will see you both in the morning."

As Jigger walked away, Cadogan turned to Severus and whispered, "Jaysus, Snape, what did you ever do to him?"

Severus shook his head wordlessly.

* * *

_Oh Sev,_

_I'm sure Master Jigger just wants you to have the best education possible. (Besides…the QUAILs are not the NEWTs! Maybe even __you__ could use more than two weeks' preparation? I'm confident in your abilities but do you really think you already know everything about the current state of the field of Potions? What's the rush?)_

_I'd love to hear more about your apprenticeship…maybe you can tell me in person? Mum and I are coming down to London this weekend for school shopping. I hope I'll be able to see you! We'll be there on Saturday._

_Love from_

_Lily_

* * *

A/N: Dear readers, I can't tell you how much I regret how late this update is! A full list of apologies/excuses can be found on my livejournal (debpeters). There, you'll also find more extensive chapter notes and responses to anonymous/unsigned reviews (to which I am unable to respond here).

I shall endeavor to post the next chapter—which, yes! has more Lily! and others!—within the week. Thank you so much for your patience, your reviews, and your engagement with this story—it means the world to me!


	12. August 1976, pt 2

**Chapter Eleven  
****August, 1976**

_Dear Lily,_

_Your visit will be the only bright point in the weeks leading up to September 1. Anticipating a great rush of Hogwarts shoppers, Master Jigger has returned me to the shop, where Cadogan and I have spent the last two days assembling forty "Hogwarts Potions Kits," as Jigger believes—and I am inclined to concur—that the average eleven-year-old is incapable of procuring the individual ingredients unguided._

_As is, for that matter, the average parent._

_I look forward to seeing you on Sunday. As I—along with the barely-competent Cadogan—will be working in the shop at that time, I do hope you'll bring with you several questions that only a talented Potions apprentice can answer._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus_

* * *

It was chaos.

With barely a week left before the first of September, Slug & Jigger's Apothecary was constantly filled with a rotation of Hogwarts students, their parents, their family friends who had tagged along in order to celebrate little Hippolyta's going off to school, the parents' friends who were taking advantage of their being in London to catch up after all these years…

And the children.

Severus was perfectly capable of handling even the youngest Hogwarts students—after seventeen years as an instructor and as the Head of Slytherin House, he _ought_ to be—but first-year students, he was quickly discovering, were often _not_ the youngest children in their families.

If he saw one more five-year-old thrust his grubby hands into the supplies barrels, his use of _Diffindo Manus_ would become indiscriminate.

So as Cadogan attempted to ring up customers' purchases as quickly as possible, Severus did his best to corral the child whose mother seemed to think "in a shop full of toxic substances" was the perfect place to ignore him in favour of a banal conversation with another woman (whose child had, incidentally, wandered off to the rear of the store and fallen asleep behind a cabinet).

And that was, of course, when Evan Rosier and Maximilian Mulciber walked in.

"A-ha!" Rosier cried, triumphant, and three mothers' heads whipped around to cast dirty glances in the direction of the loud, teenage boy. "The elusive Snape!"

"Looks like Marty Wilkes was right," Mulciber added, leering. "You _are_ a shop boy."

Severus, who had leaned down to physically restrain the child from putting a chizpurfle carapace into its mouth, straightened to standing. "Rosier," he said. "Mulciber. What a pleasant surprise." He plucked the carapace from the child's hand and pushed the brat unceremoniously toward its mother. Tossing the carapace back into the appropriate barrel, Severus turned to his former classmates and nodded. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I say, Snapey," Rosier said, "whatever happened to 'brilliant Potions apprentice'?"

Severus allowed his irritation to show in a scowl. "I've taken time away from my studies in order to provide assistance in the shop, as we are rather…busy at the moment." He spread his fingers and indicated the pandemonium around them.

"Right, right," Rosier said. "So your NEWTs were sufficient, then?"

Severus, remembering that the boys in front of him had "sabotaged" his performance, affected a glower. "Yes," he said, drawing out the last consonant in a show of sibilant annoyance.

"Good, good," Rosier said, grinning, as Mulciber smirked.

"Excuse me, young man," a harried-looking father cut in. "Where are your cauldrons?"

"We don't sell cauldrons," Severus replied. "You'll want Potage's Cauldron Shop, across the Alley."

The man blinked. "But aren't you a Potions supplier?"

"We're an apothecary, yes," Severus said. "We don't sell cauldrons. You'll want Potage's for that."

"Across the…?"

"Across the Alley," Severus repeated with concealed exasperation.

"Right, then. Cheers." The man left…but, of course, his absence was merely filled by yet another shopper.

Rosier and Mulciber watched the man leave. "So how many times has that happened?" Rosier asked.

"Only twice," Severus replied.

"That's not so bad," Mulciber said reasonably.

"This morning."

Rosier and Mulciber winced.

"Then we won't keep you," Rosier said. "Seeing how much fun you're having here…" He grinned wickedly at Severus, who fixed him with a flat stare. "We'll just be needing the supplies on this list." He brandished a scrap of parchment, which Severus recognized at a glance as the standard ingredients needed for sixth-year Potions class.

"You'll be taking the NEWT, I see." He turned and briskly began gathering the supplies needed, in duplicate.

"Well, we figured if _you_ can do it…" Mulciber said, as he and Rosier fell into step behind Severus.

"Is Mr Avery not joining you in this endeavor?" Severus asked, as he wordlessly Conjured a small basket, into which he placed the boys' purchases.

"Avery's a big no," said Rosier. "He didn't get the OWL, so…"

"Given that he hardly studied, I am unsurprised," said Severus. He pushed the basket into Rosier's hands. "There you are. Thank you for visiting our apothecary. Ms Cadogan will be happy to ring up your purchases."

"Oi," Mulciber said, frowning. "No discount or anything?"

"You have had your ingredients hand-selected for you," Severus pointed out, a tiny, sharp point of pain amassing somewhere behind his eyelids.

"That's true," Rosier replied with a show of thoughtfulness. "The service has been superlative. Do give our compliments to your…_employer_."

Mulciber snickered. Severus briefly resisted—and then gave in to—the temptation to roll his eyes. (_Honestly_. As though he could be shamed by a reminder that he _worked for a living_.)

And—well, in for a Knut, in for a Sickle. "My _employer_, as you say, is providing me with research opportunities unavailable _anywhere else_ in the world," Severus said, adjusting his glasses. "I'd say you should see the laboratory facilities here, if I thought you able to appreciate them."

"Oh, shut up, you bloody swot," Rosier replied good-naturedly. "Nobody cares about your precious laboratory."

Five points to Slytherin.

"So that bird'll ring us up, then?" Mulciber asked, gesturing towards Cadogan.

As Severus nodded, Rosier grinned and added, "I'd like to ring her up, yeah?"

Mulciber elbowed Severus. "Did you ever, eh?"

Severus curled his lip. "Hardly."

"What's the matter?" Rosier said, his eyes lighting up, like a dog who had just scented a wild something-to-mock-Snapey-with. "She seems fit."

"She's my employee," Severus spat out.

"Exactly," Mulciber insisted. "She couldn't very well refuse her _boss_."

"That's repulsive," Severus said flatly. "Regardless, she is married." When neither Rosier nor Mulciber seemed impressed by this line of reasoning, Severus added, "And she's not…my 'type.'"

Inexplicably, Rosier and Mulciber both nodded sagely at this admission. "Right, right," Mulciber said. "I like 'em more womanly myself."

As Severus digested this unpleasant fact, Rosier nodded and said, "Ta, Snapey," and both boys headed towards the ever-growing queue at the till.

Severus watched their progress, which culminated in Rosier's sending an exaggerated wink in Cadogan's direction. Cadogan, Severus was pleased to note, looked vaguely disgusted.

At that moment, the shop's front door entered, and, as a family of six squeezed out into the open air, two dark-haired teenagers pressed their way into the apothecary.

Severus had no sooner registered the faces of James Potter and Sirius Black than he was striding behind the counter, telling Cadogan he was taking his lunch break, ignoring her dismayed reaction, and sweeping out the rear door of the shop and into the back alley.

He leaned heavily against the brick exterior wall of the apothecary and exhaled loudly.

"You too?"

Severus glanced over. Mimicking his position behind the back door of the telescope shop was a short wizard, also wearing a set of uniform work robes, whose expression went beyond exhausted and all the way to desperate.

"I don't envy you," the wizard said. "At least _I_ only get first-years and the rare NEWT student who's upgrading."

"Yes, well," Severus said.

"But I'm trying to stay positive," the wizard continued. "It could be worse. I could be…" He indicated the shop on the other side of him with a jerk of his head.

The two shopkeeps stood, wordless, surrounded by the echoes of the screams and shrieks of children, doubtlessly pressing their grimy faces against the freshly-cleaned glass of the shop window in order to take in the latest inventory—the shouts of parents telling their children that, _no_, they couldn't afford a new broomstick this year—the wheedling pleas of first-years asking their parents to bend the rules, just this once—

Severus closed his eyes and silently thanked the unlikelihood of a deity that he was not employed at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

* * *

Severus wasn't sure which was worse—the never-ending parade of first-years (how, he wondered, did there seem to be _so many_ when he knew there to be only a certain number of children in each year—it must be the way they swarmed), or the occasional NEWT student who knew exactly who he was, and delighted in letting him know it.

He had managed to avoid Potter and Black ("Your friends," Cadogan had told him when he'd returned from the back alley, "are arseholes," and then she'd gone on break for an hour, which Severus had rather thought was fair), but he had not been able to so expeditiously evade a rash of Slytherin sixth- and seventh-years, including the Prefect Selwyn, who had attempted to be "chummy" with him. (It hadn't worked.)

He'd also seen the custom of Lily's friend Mary, who kept watching him as though she expected him to turn into a gorgon, and a Ravenclaw girl he couldn't quite place, who kept fixing him with an inexplicably knowing smirk.

Of course, not all visits from former classmates were entirely unpleasant—they were merely fraught with the danger of attracting the attention of the Dark Lord. When Regulus Black entered the shop, Severus nodded to him, but attempted to keep his distance.

He was unsuccessful.

"Severus," Regulus said, approaching him, another boy in tow. "It's good to see you. How is your apprenticeship going?"

"It goes well," Severus said neutrally. "How is your family, young Mr Black?"

"As well as they ever are," Regulus replied. "I'm sure you've heard about my…brother."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I have not."

Regulus' eyes flew open, and he coloured slightly. "Oh," he said. "Well…he's been, ah, disowned."

"Am I sorry to hear that?" Severus asked quietly.

Regulus' embarrassment turned into a small smile. "Well…not entirely."

The boy who had come in with Regulus took this opportunity to clear his throat. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry," Regulus said, and just as Severus recognized the other boy, Regulus said, "Severus, may I present Bartemius Crouch, Junior."

Severus accepted the boy's handshake. "Pleasure," he said.

Crouch nodded and asked, "Did you really stab Evan Rosier?"

Severus scowled. "I did not 'stab' Evan Rosier," he said, as Regulus sharply elbowed Crouch in the ribs.

Severus hadn't known Barty Crouch at school, though in retrospect he had surely been aware of his existence, as a Slytherin only two years behind Severus. But he was familiar with the Cruciatus-happy Death Eater and the insane fanatic who had arranged for the Diggory boy's death, and he had seen him receive the Kiss.

Seeing him as a young, tactless fourteen-year-old was, admittedly, a slight shock.

"My apologies," Crouch said, rubbing his ribs, and shooting Regulus an annoyed glance. "But one hears things. And given how…unpleasant Rosier can be…"

"Mr Rosier and I have made amends," Severus said, "although, now that I have moved on to my post-Hogwarts education, it must be admitted that we have little in common."

"How did you convince them to sit your NEWTs at sixteen?" Crouch asked. "And now you're apprenticed to Master _Jigger_—how did you do it?"

"Barty wants to follow in your footsteps," Regulus said wryly. "He's quite the swot. Not, that—I mean—" Regulus' face turned quite red.

"Do go on, Mr Black," Severus said. This conversation was the most entertaining aspect of his afternoon.

"I mean, he's taking all twelve classes," Regulus continued. "I imagine he'll lose his mind somewhere over the next year."

"I'm _trying_ to drop Muggle Studies," Crouch said conspiratorially, "but Father rather insists I keep on with it."

Regulus wrinkled his nose. "Eugh."

"Might I interject," Severus said, "that the best manner in which to ensure academic success is _preparedness_. May I assist you in gathering your supplies?"

He had already turned to begin retrieving them.

* * *

Of course, the majority of customers were merely irritating in their tediousness. He had especially tired of the mothers who were convinced that higher quality supplies would ensure a higher class performance; they refused to believe his assertions that, no, they _wouldn't_, and regardless, the apothecary did not keep a hidden store of superior materials.

Although it did occur to Severus that he had a rather easy way of earning a few extra Galleons, should he choose to take it.

But most of his time was spent reiterating that the shop did not have a public W.C., that he could not exchange pounds to Galleons, that—

"No, we don't sell scales," Severus said. "They have them at Wisacre's, six shops down."

"Hold on." The ruddy-faced man who'd inquired after the scales seemed utterly perplexed. "You don't sell scales?"

"No."

"Aren't you a Potions supply, then?" he asked sceptically.

"Yes," said Severus, his limited patience stretching especially thin. "We are an apothecary. As such, we do not sell laboratory equipment. Wiseacre's Wizarding Supplies, six shops down, has an admirable selection of scales."

The man gestured toward the counter, where a bemused-looking Cadogan seemed to be watching their exchange. "You have scales there," the man said pointedly.

Something within Severus finally snapped. "So we have," he spat. "We do have a set of scales. Those are the _shop's scales_. You may likewise note that we sell neither quills, nor tills, nor _barrels for holding things in_. We sell Potions ingredients. Are you in need of _Potions ingredients_?"

"Should I come back later?" a high, clear voice cut in.

Severus turned away from his now-irate customer to see the ang—

To see perf—

Severus shook his head slightly.

"Lily," he said. "Not at all. I was just directing this gentleman to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. Sir," he said, turning back to his customer, "if you tell Julian at Wiseacre's that Severus at Slug & Jigger's sent you, he'll be glad to provide you with a ten percent discount."

Severus had no idea if Wiseacre's employed anyone called Julian.

The ruddy-faced man broke into a smile. "That's all right, then. Six shops down, you said?"

"Six shops down," Severus confirmed, and the man departed.

Lily, to his surprise, darted forward and squeezed his hands with her own. "It's so good to see you," she said, grinning.

"And you," Severus returned. "Is your mother…?"

Lily waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, she's seeing a show with a friend tonight. She finally realised I'm old enough to do my school shopping by myself." She glanced around and added quietly, "And, things being like they are, I figured she might not feel so…welcome in Diagon."

Severus nodded. "Possibly a wise decision."

"So…" Lily glanced around the shop. "How much longer until you've closed up?"

"A few minutes yet," Severus replied.

Lily smiled. "I don't suppose I could talk you into coming out to dinner once you're free?"

"He's free now!"

Severus turned to the counter, from whence Cadogan had cheekily spoken out of turn. "Am I?" he asked drily.

Cadogan didn't even have the grace to blush. "I don't mind closing up. Sir." She _winked_ at him.

"I won't forget this," Severus promised flatly.

"Oh, think nothing of it!" Cadogan said. "We're not so busy tonight. I don't mind closing."

"That's so nice of you," Lily interjected. "I'm so sorry, you must be Ms Cadogan. I'm Lily." She and Cadogan shook hands.

Severus did not visibly wince, for which he thanked seventeen years of spying.

"Oh, it's Sheridan, please," Cadogan said. "So Severus has mentioned me? Oh, I do hope he hasn't said anything too terrible."

"Of course not," Lily said, because she was effortlessly charming.

"Thank you," Severus cut in, "for closing up tonight, Ms Cadogan. Should you need my assistance, please do contact me."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Cadogan said. "You have fun."

Severus turned away before he could see her wink at him again. Lily, calling out, "It was lovely to meet you, Sheridan!" fell into step behind him as they made their way out of the shop.

"She seems perfectly competent," Lily said, once they were outside.

"She's deceptive," Severus said darkly.

They both automatically started for the Leaky Cauldron—Lily, presumably, because she wasn't familiar with anywhere else, and Severus, because he wasn't sure what else he could afford—which was predictably crowded for a Sunday evening. But they were able to find a small table for two in a back corner, and Tom arrived in short time to take their orders—or, rather, to say, "I won't serve you naught but Butterbeer, kids, but I've some tasty pies if you're looking for a bite," which they happily accepted.

As Severus watched Tom's retreat back to the kitchen—and marvelled at the newfound sensation of being utterly unrecognised by someone who had always seemed simultaneously awed and disgusted by him—Lily laughed. "I guess we don't pass for seventeen, then," she said. "And you in your smart glasses and your shop's robes and everything."

Severus glanced down at his apothecary robes. "I suppose 'menial labourer' doesn't necessarily imply age," he remarked.

Lily huffed. "Oh, please, you're much more than a menial labourer. How is your work with Master Jigger going?"

Severus shrugged. "It's been temporarily halted, as, during the August rush, I'm frankly of more use to him as a shopkeeper." When Lily opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. "I speak only the truth," he said. "But, with any luck, I'll be able to resume my formal apprenticeship forthwith."

Lily's lips quirked. "'Forthwith'?" she repeated. Severus scowled, and she quickly added, "Oh, I'm only teasing. You do realise I would remember that you're a genius even if you spoke normally, don't you?"

Severus, to his dismay, felt his cheeks heat slightly. Lily caught his eye, smiled, and quickly turned her gaze to the table.

Thankfully, Tom arrived at that moment with their dinners and drinks, which he set before them with a jolly, "Enjoy!"

They hesitatingly began to dig into their pies, which, as it turned out, were nowhere near as good as Tom had indicated, but were a far sight better than Severus had rather expected. He mentioned as much to Lily, who, satisfyingly, snorted into her Butterbeer, sloshing just a bit over the edge of her mug.

"So," Severus said, "have relations with the dreaded Petunia improved at all?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Never," she said. "At least now that she's got that wretched boyfriend she's out of the house more. Did I tell you he came over for _dinner_ last week?"

"You did not."

"_Yes_, and he was dreadful. Beyond dull, just…" Lily shuddered. "Not an original thought to him, he just parroted things he'd heard on the telly or read in the paper, and, _Sev_, he talked about his boring job _endlessly_, as though anyone _cared_—"

"Didn't Petunia care?" Severus asked casually.

Lily set her mug down with a clunk. "Ha very ha," she said, obviously fighting a smile.

They talked well through their meal, and well afterwards—Severus learned that Lily had spent the summer reorganising her childhood bedroom ("Severus, you would not _believe_ what I found in the back of that closet") and had entertained visits from her friends Mary and Maureen ("I thought Petunia's head was going to _explode_ at the thought of three witches in the house"). Severus, for his part, entertained Lily with stories of the more ridiculous customers ("Sev, he did _not_ say 'priorgative'—_please_ tell me he didn't say 'priorgative'").

Around them, the pub gradually cleared out, and eventually, they were among the few diners left. When they could no longer ignore how many times Tom had cleared his throat, Severus closed their tab—"I really must insist, Lily"—and they headed through the back and once more into the night.

Severus glanced up and down the Alley, which was nigh on deserted. "It must be quite late," he remarked. "My apologies for keeping you so long."

Lily swung her arms back and forth. "Oh, please don't apologise!" she said, smiling. "I don't care how late it is."

"Surely your mother is expecting you?" Severus asked pointedly.

"Oh, not 'til tomorrow," Lily said. As Severus' heart stopped and his throat closed completely, she added, "I'm spending the night at Maureen's—her family lives just off the Alley."

Severus smoothly regained his composure. "I see," he said. "In that case, please allow me to escort you there."

Feeling simultaneously quite bold and rather foolish, he offered her his arm—which, to his tremendous relief, she took with a smile.

He allowed Lily to direct them both back past the apothecary, all the way past Gringott's, and around a small corner to a clearly residential inlet. She stopped in front of a particularly well-appointed townhouse and said, "This is it."

"Then I bid you adieu, Miss Evans," Severus said, releasing Lily's arm with a slight bow. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

"No, thank _you_," Lily returned. She placed one hand on the waist-high wrought iron fencing in front of the house and leaned against it. "So…what are we doing tomorrow?"

Severus blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Mum's not expecting me til the afternoon, and Mo's got Quidditch practise tomorrow, so I'm free all morning." Lily shook her radi—hair back from her face and smiled at him. "So I thought we could spend a _little_ more time together."

Severus, in what was becoming somewhat of an unpleasant trend, found himself at a loss for words. "I—I would be , ah, delighted," he said, "but regretfully I must spend tomorrow in the laboratory."

Lily frowned. "But—but you have Mondays off."

"I do, generally, but Master Jigger has ordered me to spend tomorrow in the laboratory, so that I might catch up on the stock brewing I've missed," Severus explained, as he watched Lily's expression grow increasingly disappointed.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "I—I guess I just assumed you'd be free, and thought you'd want…"

"I would," Severus said. "Truly. If it were any other Monday…"

"But Master Jigger ordered you to. No, I understand." Suddenly, Lily's eyes flew open as she straightened up and said, "I know! What if I just sat with you, in the laboratory, while you brewed?"

Severus reluctantly shook his head. "As much as I would enjoy that, we cannot," he said.

"I wouldn't get in the way," Lily said, "you know that. And I'd be happy to help with the prep, or even just the washing up, if you like."

"I would love your assistance, and your company," Severus said, "But—"

"But?" Lily said.

"But I'm afraid that wouldn't be acceptable for Master Jigger," Severus said. "He's said many a time that the laboratory is only to be entered by licensed Potions Masters and their apprentices. Even Cadogan can't set foot down there. And if he found out—and I'm certain he has it warded—I'd be out of a position and out on the street before you could say 'Libatius Borage.'"

Lily shoved her hands in her pockets. "I—I guess I sort of figured that. I just…" She smiled ruefully. "It's just, we were so close for so long, and then this last year…not so much, and then just when I felt like I was finally getting you back, the _real_ you…you'd gone." She shrugged. "I guess I was just hoping for one more day together."

"I wish the same," Severus said softly.

To his surprise, Lily suddenly flung her arms around him. "I know you do," she said. "I know." She withdrew and, blinking, said, "I guess I'll see you at Christmas. Unless—unless, is there any way you'd be able to make it up for a Hogsmeade weekend?"

Severus waited for his brain to fight through the realisation that, yes, Lily had embraced him, and, yes, she no longer was. "I'll find a way," he said, once he had processed what she'd said.

"Wonderful," Lily said. "Then—then I'll see you soon." She leaned forward, pressed a warm kiss to his cheek, and quickly darted back to the house's doorstep. "Goodnight, Sev," she said, and then she'd disappeared through the door.

Severus dazedly retraced his path back down the deserted side alley and back to the main street. He wondered if he'd be able to leave the shop for a weekend, and how he'd get to Scotland, and if he could go in disguise so that he wouldn't have to put up with Potter, and come to think of it, had anyone seen him with Lily at the Leaky Cauldron?

"You think it's good sport, fucking a mudblood, do you?"

Before Severus had completely processed what he'd heard, he'd ducked into the shadows beside the Magical Menagerie, crouched behind a garbage bin, and drawn his wand.

The voice had not, as he had first feared, been addressing him. Across the Alley, he could barely make out three figures just off of Knockturn—one man had another pinned against a building, while a third shoved the point of his wand into the second man's neck.

The wand-holder spoke again, and Severus recognized his voice—it was Antonin Dolohov.

"You're diluting Wizarding blood," Dolohov said, "and it's bloody disgusting."

"Disgusting," echoed the enforcer, whom Severus identified as Amycus Carrow.

Their victim said something that Severus couldn't make out, but which Dolohov, evidently, did not care for, as he struck the man soundly on the side of the head.

Through the man's gasps of pain, Dolohov said, "I'm sorry, what was that you said?"

"She's—she's my w-wife."

"Now, that's what I'd thought you'd said," Dolohov remarked. "You really oughtn't say such things of mudbloods—they'll only put on airs."

Either Dolohov or Carrow—Severus couldn't quite make it out—struck the man again.

Severus had no idea who the man was; he was, most likely, merely someone who had offered some slight to either Dolohov or Carrow—possibly both—and who was now being taught a lesson for daring to have a muggleborn wife.

Dolohov and Carrow were, of course, both loyal servants of the Dark Lord, whose service well predated his own. And Severus had little doubt that any interference in their endeavours would be met with further violence—and that there was no way, short of killing them and disposing of the bodies, that the news of that interference would not make its way back to their master.

The Alley was otherwise deserted; there was a chance that an Alley resident might hear the scuffle and call the Aurors, but given the late hour—and that the Diagon residents typically ignored the Knockturn goings-on—Severus felt it rather unlikely.

Dolohov's voice cut clearly across the Alley. "_Crucio_."

Severus lifted his wand.

He silently Disillusioned himself and crept past the intersection with Knockturn Alley. He headed for home.

* * *

A/N: Dear readers, thanks so much for all your reviews! Next week's chapter will post on Thursday, rather than Wednesday, but will defintely post before Christmas.

Chapter notes, chapter progress updates, and responses to anonymous/unsigned reviews can be found on my livejournal (debpeters). Happy holidays, y'all!


	13. September 1976

**Chapter Twelve  
****September, 1976**

_Dear Sev,_

_Ugh. Ugh. Ugh._

_I can't believe you LEFT ME here._

_Mary's not taking the Potions NEWT and you're off in grownup land so guess who's my lab partner?_

_James BLOODY Potter and I can't believe you left me here._

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_Was the Giant Squid unavailable?_

_Severus_

_

* * *

_

_SHOEMAKER FOUND DEAD IN LEEDS_

_The body of Wilbur Blishwick, aged forty-seven, was found in the River Aire on Tuesday. Blishwick, the proprietor of a Hogsmeade shoe repair shop, was reported missing by his wife on 31 August. Aurors told the _Prophet_ yesterday that they had no reason to suspect foul play, as Blishwick had no particular enemies and was known to be both clumsy and an avid fisherman._

_Blishwick is survived by his wife, Elizabeth Blishwick née Jones, and two children._

* * *

"What's the matter?"

Severus glanced back at Cadogan. "I beg your pardon," he said, although he didn't.

"You look," Cadogan said with obvious caution, "as though you're walking to the firing squad."

Severus had paused with one hand on the knob to the laboratory door. He allowed his hand to drop and turned to face his nosy employee (who really should be careful of using such obvious Muggle expressions in the current political climate). "Do I?" he asked simply.

Cadogan nodded. "I've been working here for well over a month and I've yet to see you hesitate before dispensing Potions advice that's so far over my head I couldn't reach it with a stepladder, or before throwing would-be shoplifters out the door. Literally."

Severus smirked. He had enjoyed that.

"But each morning when you head down to the lab," Cadogan continued, "you pause for _just_ a moment, and then you take a deep breath and I can practically hear the funeral march: dun dun DUN dun."

The woman actually _sang_. And she wiggled her fingers on a phantom instrument while she did it.

"Thank you for your concern," Severus said. "Please don't do…that…again."

Cadogan shrugged. "Noted." She leaned forward over the counter. "Is he really that bad?"

"Master Jigger can be…" Severus remembered the delicate way Slughorn had phrased his description. "Demanding."

"I see," Cadogan said. "That's…unsurprising?"

"Rather."

"Well," Cadogan said, "good luck, I suppose. I hope it gets better for you."

"So do I, Ms Cadogan," Severus said. "I appreciate your wishes." Cadogan nodded, and Severus turned back to the laboratory door.

"Incidentally," he said, as he began his descent, "all it takes to expel a shoplifter is a concentrated repelling charm."

"Got it," Cadogan called out. "Thanks."

He closed the door behind him and continued down the stairs.

It wasn't that he and Jigger didn't get along, as that would imply that the two had some sort of real relationship. As a point of fact, since Severus had been able to resume his duties in the laboratory, his interaction with Jigger had been limited to a) summarizing the articles Jigger had assigned for him to read; b) handing Jigger samples of the potions the man had instructed him to brew; and, over and over, c) justifying his brewing techniques as Jigger interrupted time and time again to inquire as to _why_ Severus brewed the way he did.

(At least Jigger hadn't offered further critiques of Severus' hygiene. Although Severus detested the feeling of having his hair pulled tightly into a damnable piece of elastic, he _could_ follow instructions when given them.)

Severus had managed to keep his frustrations to himself since his initial outburst, as he did have to admit that, as unpleasant as Jigger was, he really couldn't know how skilled Severus was with a knife and cauldron until he'd had time to observe him. (And, given how frustrated Severus found _his_ students' unwillingness to grant _him_ proper respect, Severus was determined to act appropriately until Jigger accepted his superior skills and knowledge and they developed a true working relationship.)

But, weeks later, Severus couldn't help but wonder how bloody long this observational period was going to continue.

"An Everlasting Elixir, today," Jigger said by way of greeting when Severus entered the laboratory. "At least fourth tier complexity."

"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said, and reached for a cauldron.

* * *

_Dear Sev,_

_Ha very ha. YES._

_Potter isn't half bad as a partner although he's slightly hopeless at the material (I don't know how he got the OWL but I suspect cheating). And he and Black (who's partnered with poor Pettigrew—he's such a nice boy, I don't know __why__ he hangs out with Black and Potter, it must be the same Gryffindor disease that's got poor Remus) keep making fish faces at each other when Slughorn isn't looking, which is often. KILL ME PLEASE._

_Does Master Jigger love you yet?_

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

__Dear Lily,_

_Master Jigger does not, I am fairly certain, "love" anyone. However, he does seem to tolerate my presence ever so slightly more, as I believe he may have unintentionally forgotten to insult my intelligence yesterday—a victory for the House of Slytherin, to be sure._

_You should hex Potter when he's not looking. Frankly, you should hex Potter when he __is__ looking._

_Incidentally, did you notice anything odd about my OWL scores?_

_Sincerely,_

_Severus_

_

* * *

__Diagon Alley, London_

_Slug & Jigger's Apothecary  
_

_Ministry of Magic  
__Division of Magical Education  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Dear Ms Hopkirk;_

_Many thanks for your reply and your warm wishes. I would also like to inquire as to the "Incomplete" mark on my Transfigurations O.W.L. I understand that I did not sit the practical portion of the examination; this was due to my taking the Arithmancy N.E.W.T., which was scheduled for the same time._

_Given my score on the Transfigurations N.E.W.T., might my O.W.L. score be adjusted to reflect what would, surely, have been an exemplary performance?_

_I eagerly await your thoughts on this matter._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

* * *

Severus, on his way from his flat to the laboratory, reached the end of the rear staircase just as Cadogan entered through the back door. "Ms Cadogan," he said by way of greeting, and gestured for her to precede him to the front of the shop.

Uncharacteristically, Cadogan did not reply with "_Mister_ Snape," or with "Try not to sound _too_ excited to see me," or even with "How is your redheaded lady friend?" (Although Severus did have enough faith in the woman's intelligence that she would never try _that_ particular greeting again—not after Severus had assigned her to inventory all the eyeballs and entrails in the shop.) Instead, Cadogan merely nodded and, head lowered, walked briskly to the front of the shop, where she took her place behind the counter without a word.

Severus followed at a more moderate pace. He didn't need eighteen years' spying experience to observe that Cadogan was upset—but he had no interest in delving into his employee's personal life. It was unprofessional.

(And he didn't care.)

So Severus merely turned to remind Cadogan that, should she need anything, she should alert him via the cord next to the laboratory door—

"Ms Cadogan," Severus said suddenly, "are you injured?"

"What?" Cadogan said. "No, I—" She put her hand up to the large, red welt on her left cheek. "Oh, I—I'm sorry, I—" She reached for her wand. "_Epiksey_."

"The incantation is 'episkey,'" Severus said quietly.

"Right. I—I did know that, I just—_episkey_." The welt on her cheek disappeared; she touched her face, feeling the now-smooth skin with calloused fingers, her eyes closed.

"Forgive me if I intrude," Severus said, "But how is it that you came to acquire such an injury during your lunch break?"

Cadogan shook her head. "It was nothing," she said.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"It—it was just some arseholes," Cadogan said. "They thought they'd have a bit of sport with a few stinging hexes. I'm fine."

"You were _attacked_?" Severus asked pointedly.

He watched with no small amount of alarm as Cadogan angrily wiped at her eyes. "It's not me, personally," she said. "I was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong blood."

"Did you recognise your assailants?" Severus pressed.

Cadogan shook her head. "No, I didn't know them," she said bitterly. "Like I said, they were just some blood purist arseholes who saw a Mudblood and—"

"Please," Severus said, as his shoulders tensed involuntarily. "Don't use that word."

Cadogan, clearly startled, fixed him with a curious gaze. "All right," she said. "In any case, that's the word _they_ used, and no, I don't know who they were."

"Were they observed?" Severus asked.

Cadogan shrugged. "I doubt it," she said. "I was taking the shortcut behind Fortescue's—"

"The one adjacent to Knockturn Alley?" Severus asked.

"Look," Cadogan said, her expression turning from hurt and embarrassment to irritation. "I appreciate your concern, but if you're going to tell me that I should know better than to use that shortcut, just—just don't. I shouldn't _have_ to choose my route based on whether some Pureblood delinquents are—"

Severus held up a hand, and, to his surprise, Cadogan fell silent. "I was merely verifying the location of the attack," he said.

Cadogan nodded. "All right."

"Are you…" Severus phrased his question carefully. "…planning to report the incident to the DMLE?"

Cadogan snorted. "What, and let the blood purists _there_ know that I'm an uppity Mud—sorry."

"Unfortunately," Severus said, "I believe you may be correct. If—would you prefer to take a break before we re-open?"

Cadogan shook her head. "No. Can we—I just want to carry on."

"Very well," Severus said. "If there's any way I can be of assistance…?"

Cadogan let out a single bark of laughter. "Sorry, sorry," she said. "But, er, I think I can excuse you from 'comforting' duty."

That was unfair. Severus had been doing an admirable job of feigning interest in Cadogan's well-being. It was simply unfortunate that she couldn't provide any substantive clues as to the identities of her attackers.

"Then I'll leave you to re-open," he said. "Do alert me if you need assistance and, ah, do recall the banishing charms."

"Thank you, Mr Snape," Cadogan said, pointedly turning to the front of the store.

Severus opened the laboratory door. "Incidentally, Ms Cadogan," he said as he descended, "you _are_ uppity."

Cadogan whirled around, a hint of a smile on her still-reddened face. "Away with you!" she exclaimed.

Severus—who felt oddly accomplished despite the fact that he had learned absolutely nothing—closed the door.

* * *

_Dear Sev,_

_Do you mean the Incomplete on your Transfigs score? I guess I figured that wasn't a big deal?_

_I am not going to hex Potter, as a) that would be stooping to his level, and b) he really __isn't__ that bad—he's really been on his best behaviour this year, for what __that's__ worth—he's just, ugh. Childish I guess? Which, I know we're the same age. It's just, comparing him to, like, I don't know. You?_

_He's just such a little __boy__._

_I hope that doesn't sound weird._

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

__Ministry of Magic  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Division of Magical Education  
_

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_I have spoken with Ms Marchbanks of the Wizarding Examinations Authority. Given the uniqueness of your situation, the Ministry is prepared to make an adjustment of your "Incomplete" score and change your mark to "Acceptable."_

_If this is not agreeable to you, you are welcome to file an official appeal with the Division of Magical Education, at which point a make-up examination will be scheduled for you._

_Kindest regards,_

_Malfalda Hopkirk  
__Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_I noticed the errant score last week, when organising my previous correspondence. I somehow failed to notice when I received them. Perhaps my eyesight is going further. Regardless, I have taken steps toward rectifying this mistake._

_I am flattered that you think me mature, but I rather wish there had been a higher standard for comparison than James "Isn't It Amusing When I Put This Up My Nose" Potter._

_Rest assured that I have always regarded you as far more refined than our peers._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus_

_

* * *

__Slug & Jigger's Apothecary  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Ministry of Magic  
__Division of Magical Education  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Dear Ms Hopkirk;_

_Enclosed you will find Appeal Form 11.3.µ, Appeal to Make Up O.W.L., Transfigurations._

_I am available at any time on Mondays at your convenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

* * *

"Master Jigger," Severus said carefully, as the other man closely observed as he brewed a standard all-purpose antidote (_honestly_, as though any NEWT student couldn't do the same in his sleep). "I'd like your opinion on something."

"Yes?" Jigger said (neutrally, _always_ neutrally), his gaze never wavering from Severus' moving hands.

"Yesterday, when I was practising the extra-potent Wit Sharpening Potion—"

"The one I approved for sale this morning?"

"Yes. I told Cadogan to mark it up twenty-five percent from the standard ones in stock and label it 'for emergencies only.'"

"Good. We'll probably need more. But go on."

Severus finished the thirtieth counterclockwise stir—he paused for comment, but, surprisingly, none came—and set his stainless steel stirring rod down on the charmed spoon rest. "It occurred to me, as I added the ginger, that, were we to incorporate certain elements known to cause confusion in the drinker, we might be able to produce a potion that simultaneously sharpens the mind of the drinker _and_ muddles his own perception of it."

The primary ingredient was lovage, and, in Severus' Mastery project, he had given the potion the admittedly unimaginative title of "Draught to Increase Susceptibility to Veritaserum."

Jigger, as far as Severus could tell, seemed thoughtful. "And the application of such a potion would be?"

"It might," Severus said, "open the drinker's mind to interrogation, through Veritaserum, truth charms, or…more direct methods."

The two Occlumenses regarded one another for a moment.

"An interesting hypothesis," Jigger allowed. "And one we can certainly consider investigating, after you have passed your QUAILs."

"I understand," Severus said. "But, since this idea is directly related to the potions I have been revising—learning—" Severus inwardly cringed—what was he, to misspeak like that? "—I thought, perhaps, we could incorporate this experimentation as part of the QUAIL preparation process."

Jigger leaned back slightly on his stool. "I gather that you are…frustrated with the pace of your apprenticeship?"

Severus adjusted the cauldron on his table. "I am…eager to begin original research," he said. "And given how quickly we have progressed through our schedule…"

"Yes, thanks to your constantly pushing to move on to the next subject."

Severus bit the inside of his cheek.

"You will continue to brew the potions I assign, with my supervision, on Wednesdays," Jigger said.

Severus' eyebrows lifted of their own accord. "Leaving Fridays for experimentation?"

"Yes, fine." Jigger's eyes turned to the periodical in front of him. "You've shown that you may have earned that NEWT record after all."

Severus hadn't been so begrudgingly complimented since it had been intimated to him that he was more than "just" a Slytherin.

"Sir, I'd like to say something," Severus said, "and I hope I won't be misconstrued."

Jigger glanced back up. "Do go on," he said drily.

"I would not have been able to set that record if I hadn't had fifty years of others' research to study so closely."

Jigger was silent for a moment. "I dislike flattery," he said at last.

"And that is why I don't employ it," Severus replied.

Jigger said nothing.

"Did you know," Severus said into the silence, "that they only notify those who have set the _top_ record?"

"Do they?" Jigger said.

Severus nodded. "One might achieve the second-highest score in, for example, the Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT, and never be told, even if that record remains in the top five fifty years later."

Jigger, to Severus' satisfaction, looked ever so slightly pleased for just a moment. "Really," he said, and then his expression neutralised once more. "I wonder why you inquired as to those records. Allow me to guess—second-highest?"

Severus, to his annoyance, felt his cheeks colour slightly. "No. Ah. Third."

Jigger picked up his magazine once more. "Very well," he said—and, for the first time, Severus heard the slightest hint of amusement in the man's voice. "Make your Mind-Opening Potion, Mr Snape."

Severus blinked. "That—that's an excellent name for it," he said.

Jigger opened the magazine. "Flattery, Mr Snape," he said. "I won't say it again."

Severus opened his mouth, and, realising that there were only so many battles one could fight and win, closed it again.

* * *

_Division of Magical Education  
__Ministry of Magic  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_I have scheduled your make-up Transfigurations practical O.W.L. for Monday next, ten o'clock a.m. Please report to the Division of Magical Education no later than nine forty-five._

_Kindest regards,_

_Malfalda Hopkirk  
__Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education_

_

* * *

__Dear Sev,_

_Come on, Potter hasn't done that nose trick since at least fourth year._

_Love from_

_Lily_

_

* * *

__Diagon Alley, London_

_Slug & Jigger's Apothecary  
_

_Ministry of Magic  
__Division of Magical Education  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Dear Ms Hopkirk;_

_Many thanks for your assistance in this matter. I will certainly report to the Ministry tomorrow at nine forty-five a.m. for my make-up Transfigurations O.W.L., practical portion._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

* * *

Severus was finished at the Division of Magical Education by ten-thirty. The practical examination had been laughably easy—he had amused himself by modelling his tortoise-cum-teapot on the Hogwarts china, which had delighted the examiner—and he had fled the company of the department's loquacious secretary as soon as he could. (The woman, only a handful of years older than Severus was at the moment, had the unnerving tic of blinking far too many times in rapid succession. As she also stared intently at him through half-closed eyes, she presumably had some sort of vision problem.)

So he still had the bulk of his day off to look forward to—he planned to check on his Felix Felicis, to clean his loo (Jigger employed a housekeeper for the shop and the flat, but Severus had yet to see any indication that the woman had even once taken a wand to the bathtub), and, of course, to write to Lily—and he waited for the lift in a somewhat pleasanter mood than usual.

Of course, the lift opened to reveal Lucius Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov, at which point his mood soured considerably.

"Severus," Malfoy said, surprise evident in his over-posh voice. "What a surprise."

"Mr Malfoy," Severus said with a nod as he stepped into the lift.

He did not know Dolohov. He had never seen him before. He didn't acknowledge him.

"Antonin, this young man is in the same Hogwarts House that I myself was once in," Lucius said by way of introduction. "Severus, Mr Dolohov is an associate of mine."

"A pleasure to meet you," Severus said, shaking the murderer's hand.

The lift sped upward, and Malfoy turned an inquisitive gaze to Severus. "I simply _must_ ask," he said, "what brings you to the Ministry when, given the time of year, you should be at Hogwarts. Surely you're not skiving off? Don't tell me you've been expelled. You certainly can't be here on…family business."

Yes, yes, all of Slytherin knew Severus was a destitute halfblood. Very clever. Regardless, this particular destitute halfblood still had no desire to crow about his accomplishments to two of the Dark Lord's servants.

"A scheduling conflict prevented me from taking the practical portion of my Transfiguration OWL," Severus said honestly. "I've just taken it."

"I see," Malfoy said. "How did you do?"

"Well enough, I suspect," Severus said. "Thank you."

"Good, good." The lift opened onto the Atrium, and Malfoy gestured with his ostentatious cane that Severus should exit first. He did so.

He did not enjoy having his back to the two men.

Malfoy, to Severus' visceral displeasure, continued to walk with him through the Atrium. "We've just been meeting with the Minister," Malfoy drawled. "A lovely man. You can rest assured that our Ministry is in the appropriate hands."

"Excellent," Severus said.

"And here we are," Malfoy said as they reached the row of fireplaces, and Severus belatedly realised that Malfoy expected him to floo back to Hogwarts. "Do give my regards to Horace—to Professor Slughorn, I mean," Malfoy said.

"Ah, certainly," Severus said. "Nice to meet you, Mr Dolohov."

Dolohov nodded, his lack of interest in an unconnected student clearly evident in his face, and Severus relaxed ever so slightly.

"Take care, Mr Malfoy," Severus said, and, no better ideas presenting themselves, he stepped into the green flames and clearly—but quietly—stated his destination.

Tom the barman blinked when Severus tumbled out of the Leaky's fireplace, but after Severus cleaned up all the scattered soot, the man said nothing.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, which always make me a) smile, b) think, or c) hit myself in the head for not thinking of something before. Each reaction is welcome.

Responses to anonymous/unsigned reviews, chapter status updates, and apologies/excuses for, er, rather late chapters, can be found on my livejournal (debpeters).

Coming up: a Hogsmeade weekend.


	14. October 1976

A/N: Though Severus revisits this subject briefly in this chapter, those readers who may have forgotten Severus' reasoning as to why he has returned to 1976 might wish to reread the first half of "June 1976, pt. 1."

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen  
****October, 1976**

_Division of Magical Education  
__Ministry of Magic  
__Diagon Alley, London_

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_I am delighted to inform you that your Transfigurations O.W.L. score has been adjusted to 'O.' Congratulations! Your Ministry record will be updated accordingly and you will receive a full copy of your results within the fortnight._

_Kindest regards,_

_Malfalda Hopkirk  
__Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_At long last, I feel I am making headway in both my apprenticeship and my relationship with Master Jigger, which is to say that I may actually __have__ a relationship with him. He has, finally, acceded that I may, in fact, be a qualified Potioneer, and we have embarked upon the creation of an original potion, marginally related to Combat Potioneering, about which I will say no more._

_He is still, on the whole, humourless, demanding, and unyielding, but at least he no longer seems to believe me to be a complete idiot._

_Speaking of which, I do hope your Potions classes have improved._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Severus,_

_A little bit. I threatened Potter with bodily harm if he bollocksed up a single potion, so he hasn't done any damage to my grades at least. (And anyway it's not like Sluggy would give me anything lower than an 'O' anyway, which is either flattering or creepy. I haven't decided.)_

_But Potter's the same as ever outside of class—always way too nice, like I don't remember how he treats people and like I can't see how fake he's being. He actually asked me to go to the Halloween feast with him and was seriously surprised when I said no._

_So I was wondering if you might be able to meet me in Hogsmeade on Halloween, since you can't be my date to the feast._

_If you can't that's fine. You don't have to. I won't be angry._

_But I'd like to see you._

_Love from_

_Lily_

* * *

Severus stared at the parchment in his hand.

He pushed up his tinted glasses and stared at the parchment again.

_Since you can't be my date to the feast…_

Severus let the spectacles fall back onto his nose, and then he let himself fall back onto his rickety bed.

_My date to the feast._

Severus released the parchment from his fingers, and it fluttered to the floor.

_My date._

Merlin.

In retrospect, he should have realised sooner that Lily was interested in building an…accord with him. The parade of letters he could attribute to her being, as she had always been, his closest (only?) friend (and to her remarkable loquacity), but the lingering touches—as well as the two (two!) chaste kisses she had pressed upon him—spoke to a different objective.

But…for Merlin's sake, _why_?

He had a sour disposition and an unpleasant appearance (although he had, on occasion, been described as "striking" by overly-optimistic women). And, until recently (from Lily's perspective), he had been marching plainly off into the scaly embrace of the Dark Lord. Granted, he was intelligent, but not much more so than she. There was absolutely nothing, excepting their shared childhoods, that would appeal to—

Severus sat up and blinked.

He had been turning towards the Dark Lord. He had stopped. Lily had begun to show him affection.

It wasn't his dubious charms that drew Lily to him; it was, rather, her selflessness and indefatigable optimism. She clearly intended to continue steering him towards the path of Gryffindor righteousness.

Should he allow her to do so?

Severus fell back onto the mattress.

Associating with Lily Evans would doubtlessly attract attention from James Potter and, thereby, Albus Dumbledore.

Likewise, associating with Lily Evans—an outspoken Gryffindor and known Muggleborn, whose circle of friends had already been targeted by at least two future followers of the Dark Lord—might very well attract attention from his contemporaries amongst the Death Eaters; an underaged Potions apprentice might be written off as an uninteresting swot, but a blood traitor?

In essence, associating with Lily Evans would move Severus ever so slightly out of the precisely grey political position he had worked so hard to establish; associating with Lily Evans would mark Severus as at least sympathetic to the position of Dumbledore's Order.

Severus had no intention of being marked as _anything_.

And yet…

Severus flicked his glasses off of his face and onto the mattress beside him.

It was important for him to avoid attracting attention because he had to dispose of the Horcruxes so that the Dark Lord might be defeated.

This meant that he had to find them—the Diary, the Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Blacks' locket, and, again, whatever the hell it was Harry Potter had found in the Ravenclaw Common Room—and create an alchemical means of destroying the damned things (which was, after all, the reason for his apprenticeship)—_without_ the Dark Lord noticing.

No; "Making advances to Lily Evans" did not fit into Severus' plan in the slightest.

Severus rubbed his eyes.

But there was _something_—some not-yet-realised idea—

Severus sat up.

The Diary, the Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Blacks' locket, Ravenclaw's artefact, the damnable snake, and Harry Potter: the Dark Lord's Horcruxes.

At the time of Severus' death, every Horcrux—with the exception of the living ones—had been destroyed. Yet Severus had been flung back to 1976 for the purpose (it _had_ to be the purpose—there had to _be_ a purpose) of ensuring the Dark Lord's downfall.

Perhaps Dumbledore had miscalculated. Perhaps living Horcruxes were not so simple; perhaps Harry Potter's sacrifice was in vain, or perhaps Harry Potter was unable to sacrifice himself (unlikely for a Gryffindor, but still a possibility). Dumbledore wasn't infallible. Something must have gone wrong.

So, perhaps—

Perhaps the best way to ensure the destruction of the Horcrux inside Harry Potter was to prevent such a Horcrux from existing. And perhaps the best way to prevent the Horcrux from existing was to prevent _Harry Potter_ from existing. And the best way to prevent Harry Potter from existing…

Well, it was to prevent the Potters from becoming _the Potters_.

Severus nodded once to himself and slipped his glasses back on.

To fulfil his duty—to bring down the Dark Lord—and for the sake of the Wizarding world—

Severus Summoned parchment and a quill and prepared himself to accept a date with Lily Evans.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_It would be my honour._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus_

* * *

"And how, pray tell," Cadogan said, "would such an arrangement be of use to me?"

Severus blinked. "Was that meant to be an impression of me?"

Cadogan grinned and resumed wiping an ink spill off of the counter. "Maybe."

"It was terrible."

Cadogan shrugged. "You could tell, though."

"Only," Severus said, "because you pitched your voice an octave lower and mimed spectacles with your fingers. Consequently, there is now ink on your face."

Cadogan waved her wand at her face. Incredibly, the blotch of ink merely grew larger. Irritated, Severus flicked his wand at the offending stain, which promptly disappeared. Cadogan smiled. "Cheers."

"So," Severus said, "are you, in fact, willing to switch days in the shop with me? By all means, if you would prefer to mock me further, do continue."

Cadogan stilled the rag she was inexplicably using to clean the counter (though, given the accuracy of her cleaning spells…). "Oh, _really_," she said. "Where's that dry wit I've come to love and fear?"

"I left it in the laboratory."

"There you go," the harpy said. "In any case, what's so important that you just _have_ to have Sunday free?"

"That is none of your concern," Severus told her.

"No?" Cadogan said. "You know, I don't _have_ to switch with you."

"I have an appointment," he said flatly.

"_With_?"

Severus glowered at her.

Cadogan grinned. "With your redheaded lady friend?"

"That is none of your concern," Severus said again.

Cadogan lay her hand on her chest. "Ah, young love," she said. "I look back upon it fondly, now that I'm an old married woman."

Severus, exasperated, turned on his heel and opened the laboratory door.

"Wait, wait," Cadogan said. "I'm sorry. Yes. I'll work next Sunday, if you'll do next Tuesday."

Severus turned back around. "Very well," he said. "Providing Master Jigger is agreeable, that will be our plan."

Cadogan's eyes flew open. "You haven't asked Master Jigger yet?"

Melodramatic woman. "What would be the point of asking him before you had agreed?"

"What was the point of asking me before _he_ had agreed?" Cadogan retorted.

Severus rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Good _day_, Ms Cadogan," he said, and then he turned and descended into the laboratory.

Jigger was already there, and was in the midst of reading the research outline that Severus had given him the evening before. "Mr Snape," Jigger greeted him. "An interesting hypothesis. The lovage idea especially seems likely; I suggest you begin with that."

There was something to be said for a man who refused to waste time on frivolous social constructs like saying "good morning."

"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said. "But, ah… Before we begin, I'd like your permission to switch days in the shop with Ms Cadogan next week, Tuesday for Sunday."

Jigger set the parchment down. "When did she agree to this?"

"Just now."

"I see," Jigger said. "Well, frankly, I'm just surprised it's taken you so long to use the day off you insisted upon last month."

When did…? Ah, yes, when Jigger had mistaken his request for clarification as a wheedling request for compensatory time. "Actually," Severus said, "I had forgotten about that. I had planned to ask if I might brew the stock potions on Monday, rather than Tuesday."

Jigger scowled. "I've said you may have a day and you shall _have_ it, Mr Snape. I am a fair employer."

Severus idly wondered how Jigger defined "fair," but simply said, "Thank you, Master Jigger," and headed for the cold storage closet.

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_I'm so very glad! I've missed you terribly this term, really I have, like I can't even __say__._

_Shall I see you at the Hogwarts gates, at ten o'clock? Sooner if I can sneak out. Just kidding. Mostly._

_Love from_

_Lily_

* * *

Severus stepped out of the Three Broomsticks' floo and, seeing Madam Rosmerta wrinkle her nose, promptly Vanished the few bits of ash he had scattered. The proprietor nodded, and Severus strode out of the pub and turned left, heading for the Hogwarts gates.

As he neared Hogsmeade station, he realised he had a small amount of soot on his new (old) robes (he had chosen to wear the one everyday set he owned in lieu of donning his apothecary uniform). He started to clean them—realised he was no longer in Diagon, and therefore his Trace might be in effect—realised he had always seen students using magic in Hogsmeade—realised there was no way the Ministry could hope to monitor underaged magic in Hogsmeade—realised he had _already_ done magic in the Three Broomsticks—and by the time he reached Hogsmeade Station, he realised he was quite overthinking the matter, and cleaned his robes with a quick flick of his wand.

If Severus didn't fully know better, he would think he was nervous. Which, well. Ridiculous.

Severus climbed the hill up to the gates and, deciding he didn't particularly care to be seen by every single exiting student, hung back near a tree and waited.

The gates opened at promptly ten o'clock, and Lily Evans was the first through them.

Severus' heart did not leap, as that was a physical impossibility.

Lily walked through the Hogwarts gates and stopped after a few steps, her expression changing from expectancy to puzzlement and, alarmingly, to disappointment, before Severus realised what an idiot he was and stepped out of the tree's shadows, lifting a hand in greeting.

Lily's expression immediately brightened, and she headed toward him—accompanied, unexpectedly, by a dark-haired girl whose expression seemed far more "sceptical" than "eager for a Hogsmeade weekend."

Severus had just recognised the other girl as Lily's friend Mary when the two reached him. "Severus!" Lily exclaimed—and in what was less of a surprise to Severus than it would have been before Lily's most recent letters, she wrapped her arms around his ribcage in a tight hug. Severus' breath still caught.

Lily pulled back, her cheeks pink, and smiled up at him. "I'm so glad you could make it," she said. "Did Master Jigger give you a hard time about leaving?"

"I—we managed to come to an agreement," Severus said. Lily smiled. Mary, standing slightly behind Lily, glared at him over Lily's shoulder.

"Good morning, Miss Macdonald," Severus said, inclining his head.

Mary turned to Lily. "Since he showed up after all, do you still need me?"

Lily flushed crimson. "Mary! Don't be _rude_."

Mary shrugged. "You _know_ I think it's a bad idea. And I know how _his_ friends feel about girls like me—girls like _us_. So yes, I still think you're making a mistake, but since I can't stop you I'd really rather not _watch_."

"You're _such_ a good friend," Lily said flatly. "Don't let me keep you."

Mary shot another glare in Severus' direction, and headed down the path, joining a group of Gryffindor girls on their way into the village.

Severus really couldn't imagine what had inspired Mulciber and Avery to hex her.

Lily watched Mary's progress, and then turned back to Severus. "I'm sorry about Mary," she said. "She—she likes to hold a grudge."

"I know the type," Severus said. Lily snorted and, after the barest moment's hesitation, linked arms with him and pulled him towards the village.

Other than Mary and the other Gryffindor girls, the few students who were about at this hour were mostly third- and fourth-year students for whom Hogsmeade was still a new experience (the older forms tended to have a bit of a lie-in on Sundays, Hogsmeade weekend or not). The village was decked in its Halloween finest, its high spirits not yet muted by the impending war; as Severus recalled, the subsequent years had seen fewer and fewer festive decorations, until, by 1981, the villagers had given up on Halloween merriment entirely—only to bring out the sum of the décor the next day, when every Light-minded person in the world celebrated the fall of the Dark Lord, and Severus lost, finally and absolutely, the only person who had ever mattered to him.

Lily squeezed his arm. "Something the matter?" she asked.

Severus swallowed. "Not at the moment," he replied. "May I ask where we're headed?"

Lily grinned. "I thought maybe Tomes & Scrolls?"

"Not Madam Puddifoot's?" Severus deadpanned.

"For some reason I thought a great lot of books would appeal more to you than fat cherubs and screeching girls," Lily said. "Although, of course, now I run the risk that you'll ignore me the rest of the afternoon in favour of those books…"

"Never," Severus assured her. "Not unless they have the latest issue of _Potions Quarterly_."

"_Really_."

"Of course I speak in jest," Severus said.

"I knew that," Lily said, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

"The next issue won't be out til December."

Lily elbowed him harder.

They casually walked into the village proper and off the side street that led to the bookshop—Severus was relieved to not recognise any of the students yet in the village—and proceeded to spend upwards of ninety minutes browsing the shelves together. Severus left with a used defence text he'd not seen before, and Lily left with a thick novel and the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_, about which she was charmingly defensive.

"Oh my god, can we go eat now?" Lily said brightly (as though she'd had to drag him out of the shop, when she was the one who had spent twenty minutes picking up and putting down the same book).

"Are we finally to go to Puddifoot's?" Severus asked.

"_Stop_ it," Lily said. "I was hoping the Broomsticks would be all right with you, if you're not too grown up for such shenanigans."

Severus wasn't so much too mature for The Three Broomsticks as he was too cautious, but there was nothing for it—the Hog's Head was all too likely to play host to once and future Death Eaters who had realised that Aberforth Dumbledore could be convinced to serve them beverages rather stronger than Butterbeer, and Madam Puddifoot's was… out of the question.

So Severus said, "I'm not if you aren't," and Lily smiled at him and led him back toward the high street and The Three Broomsticks, where they managed to secure an out-of-the-way table in the back corner opposite the bar (Lily said nothing about his choice of seats; Rosmerta, however, gave him a sideways look that Severus chose not to decipher).

Rosmerta returned shortly with a pair of Butterbeers and two bowls of what was ostensibly stew, which Lily began consuming with gusto while Severus regarded it sceptically. "I believe Tom may have the advantage over Rosmerta when it comes to his establishment's fare," Severus remarked.

Lily snorted. "Don't let Rosmerta hear you say that."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Do you take me as suicidal?"

And then, with no warning other than a faint _whoosh_, something cold and wet hit Severus' face and fell into his stew, which immediately splashed over the edge of the bowl and onto Severus' robes.

It occurred to Severus that it might have been better if he _had_ worn his excellently Charmed Apothecary robes.

He glanced down and recognised the object that had hit him and polluted his lunch—it was, inexplicably, a snowball.

Perhaps it wasn't quite so inexplicable, however, when one noticed a certain table across the pub, around which were seated Black, Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin—and that Black had his wand out and pointed in Severus' direction.

So Severus wordlessly disarmed him.

He had Black's wand in his hand no more than five seconds after the snowball had landed.

"What—did Black just—is that a _snowball_?" Lily sputtered.

"Yes," Severus said, as he Vanished the snow from his face and glasses—and the stew from his robes—with, satisfyingly, Black's wand.

"Is that Black's wand?" Lily asked.

"Yes," Severus replied. "Would you like it?"

"I'd like to hex him with it," Lily snapped. "BLACK! Oh."

She had turned to shout across the pub—but Black, along with Potter, had already crossed the room and were standing beside their table.

"Give me my wand," Black demanded of Severus.

"I'm so sorry, Evans," Potter said, eyes wide. "I told him not to."

"Give it," Black said again, "or I will hit you like a Muggle."

"Evidently, you're not his keeper," Lily said disdainfully.

"Did you hear me, Snivellus?" Black said. "I said, _give me my bloody wand_."

Potter turned on Black. "Sirius, apologise to Lily for ruining her afternoon," he said.

Because Severus was a master of Occlusion, his face did _not_ bare the same dumbstruck expression as Sirius Black's.

"What?" Black said.

Lily scoffed. "He _needs_ to apologise to _Severus_," she said.

"_You're_ the one who said, 'I can't believe she's sitting over there with him in broad daylight. I wish someone would hex him so he'd leave,'" Black said to Potter.

Potter coloured. "I didn't say that."

"Yeah, you _definitely_ did," Black said.

"Well even if I _had_ said it, which I _didn't_," Potter said, with an obvious glance at Lily, "I wouldn't mean for you to actually _do_ it. Now apologise to Evans."

"Oh bugger _off_, James," Sirius said, and then he stormed back over to his table, where Wormtail was practically falling off of his seat in his efforts to watch the proceedings.

Potter watched him leave with an amusingly hopeless expression on his face. "I'm so sorry," he said again to Lily. "I swear, I didn't tell him to do that."

"You shouldn't swear when you don't mean it," Lily said. "But I have to ask—why a snowball?"

Potter shrugged helplessly. "Doesn't it seem like it's always snowing in Hogsmeade?"

"It's October," Lily said flatly.

"It could be snowing," Potter said.

"Not enough for a snowball," Lily said, her voice dripping with beautiful disdain.

"He—it—he thought it was funny, okay?" Potter said. "Don't ask me to explain him. I'm not his keeper." He tried for a winning smile. Lily ignored it.

"So, er, I." Potter looked back and forth between Lily, who was pointedly ignoring him, and Severus, who was watching Potter's attempts at reconciliation with a satisfied smirk. "Look, ah, Sni—Snape. I'd like to apologise on Sirius' behalf."

Lily's eyes flew open.

Well, _damn_.

"Yes, Potter," Severus said, "you may have Black's wand." He lifted the won item between his thumb and forefinger and extended it towards Potter.

"I—I wasn't just asking for the wand back," Potter said.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Frankly, I don't care. Please take Black's wand and leave me to what's left of my meal."

Potter coloured again. He took Black's wand, tucked it into a robe pocket, and then, after a moment of hesitation, brought out his wallet. "Ah, let me at least get you another bowl," Potter said, pulling out a Galleon.

Severus noticed the blood draining from Lily's face even as he reached up to push Potter's hand away. "No," Severus said, "thank you."

"Please," Potter insisted. "I—it's the right thing to do." He glanced at Lily again.

"Go," Severus said, "away."

Potter tried for a winning smile. "Can't I—"

"No," Severus said. "You cannot. Now leave, before I take your wand as well as Black's."

Potter turned to Lily. "I tried," he told her.

"Get _lost_, Potter," Lily said, and, finally, Potter left them, shooting one intense glare in Severus' direction as he left.

Lily buried her face in her hands. "I'm _so sorry_," she said, her voice muffled.

Severus—who was well aware, of course, that Potter was watching their every movement from across the pub—reached across the table and took Lily's hands away from her face. "It certainly is not your fault," he told her, holding her hands in his own.

Lily squeezed his hands. "That was _mortifying_," she said. "Is everyone staring at us?"

Severus glanced around. Potter was staring at them—and Lupin was, inexplicably, watching them as well—but, fortunately, nobody else seemed to find the goings-on of a handful of sixth-year Gryffindors particularly interesting.

"Nobody is staring at us," Severus said, and then, feeling particularly bold, he added, "and if they were, it would only be due to jealousy that they don't share my luck in dining companions."

Lily blushed and said, "Can we get out of here, please? This stew is _awful_, and mine doesn't even have any Conjured snow in it."

"Really," Severus said. "I doubt it's Conjured. Black most likely used a Freezing Charm on a glass of water."

"If he does that again," Lily said earnestly, "I'll use a Freezing Charm on his bollocks."

"By all means," Severus said. He pulled out a handful of coins and left them on the table—Lily, thankfully, said nothing—and the two of them headed for the door, ignoring Potter and his cronies as they went.

They stepped outside and walked back towards the street, only to hear a young voice call, "Snape!"

Severus looked over to see Regulus Black jogging towards them, Barty Crouch following at a more sedate pace behind him. "Snape," Regulus said again as he reached them. "What are you doing here? Is it a coincidence that you're here on a Hogsmeade weekend? Are you here on business? Is Master Jigger here? Is—oh." Regulus suddenly stopped talking, his eyes on Lily (who, Severus noted, looked more amused than anything). "Hello," Regulus said. "I'm, ah, hello."

"Hello, hello," Lily said, smiling kindly.

There was nothing for it, so Severus said, "Lily, may I present Regulus Black, a fourth-year Slytherin, and his friend Barty Crouch. Regulus, this is Miss Lily Evans, a sixth-year Gryffindor."

"I know who she is," Regulus said. "She's a Prefect. And James Potter is hopelessly in love with her. Or, ah." Regulus cringed. "So I've heard."

"So we've all heard," Lily said drily. She said nothing else; Severus assumed that she was aware enough of Gryffindor gossip to know that Sirius was no longer considered part of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. After all, if _he_ knew it, surely someone with a veritable plethora of friends and acquaintances would be well aware.

"Evans," Barty said slowly. "Are you, by any chance, related to Mulfinias Evans, the celebrated Goblin liaison?"

Regulus' eyes flew open. Severus' eyes remained Occluded behind his glasses. Lily's eyes narrowed.

All four of them were, without a doubt, well aware of Lily Evans' blood status. After all, she _was_ a popular Gryffindor and Prefect. If they knew enough to know that Potter was obsessed with her, these blood purists knew _exactly_ what type of family begat Lily Evans.

But to Severus' surprise, Regulus said, "Come on, Barty, not everybody is as obsessed with their famous ancestors as _you_."

It was the first time Severus had known the boy to exhibit any semblance of tact whatsoever.

"It was nice to see you, Snape," Regulus continued. "Have a good afternoon, Miss Evans." And then he pulled a frowning Barty away toward the Three Broomsticks.

As they left, Lily said quietly, "That Crouch kid is _creepy_."

"I wouldn't disagree," Severus concurred, and they turned back toward the high street.

They walked slowly back towards the direction of Hogsmeade Station; Lily glanced in a few shop windows as they went, but declined to go into any of the shops. "I'm really just putting off going back up to school," she explained with an uncharacteristically shy smile.

"Ah," Severus replied eloquently.

So they took a meandering route down a few side streets—Severus steered them away from one street in particular, but Lily didn't seem to notice his refusal to go near a certain building in which he'd drawn his final breaths—and, at some point, Lily slipped her hand into his.

Severus was calculating the best way to cast a Drying Charm on his increasingly moist right hand without Lily noticing when he spied Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery turning the corner. He immediately pulled Lily off the street and behind a large tree.

"Severus!" Lily exclaimed, but Severus hissed at her to be quiet. She closed her mouth, but looked up at him curiously.

The three sixth year Slytherins passed their hiding place without incident—Severus rolled his eyes at the sound of Mulciber's unpleasant, braying laugh—and once they had stepped out of earshot, Severus explained quietly, "My apologies. I had no desire to speak to my former dorm mates at this time. Please forgive my…impulsiveness."

Lily smiled. "No, it's fine. I wouldn't want to run into them, either—I know how awful they can be." She laughed, and, blushing quite fiercely, added, "When you first pulled me over here, I thought maybe you had an entirely different goal in mind."

"And what would that be?" Severus asked, as the realisation slowly, impossibly, grew.

"Oh, you know. What, ah, most people want to do on dates." Lily grinned, tilting her head to one side.

"I am not most people," Severus pointed out, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

"I," Lily said. "I, ah. I kind of am."

And then she reached up, threaded her hand through his hair behind his head, pulled his face towards hers, and got hit in the eye by his nose.

"Oops," Lily said as Severus died inside. "Let me—"

And then her lips were on his.

Severus had experienced several kisses in his life. Until the age of five or so—before Eileen Snape had given up on her family and, it must be admitted, her life—he had received many maternal kisses. In his seventh year at Hogwarts, he had dated a sixth-year Slytherin named Lucrezia, who had already made the rounds with every other Slytherin boy in the sixth and seventh years (and, reportedly, with one particularly good-looking fifth year). At Rosier's goading, he had gone so far as to "seal the deal" with Lucrezia, an experience that had been, on the whole, underwhelming for the both of them.

At twenty-six, when the ever-present grief had cleared enough for him to be able to almost _feel_ once more, he had spent a few evenings in the company of that year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, an optimistic woman called Jezzie, who hadn't been unattractive and who hadn't taken immediate offence to Severus' immediate initial dismissal of her overtures. Unfortunately, she had left the position after the customary year due to her mother's increasingly ill health, and Severus hadn't heard from her—aside from a yearly, overly chatty letter at Christmastime—since 1987.

The others—Maude, Claire, and…ah…Evelyn?—had been uninspiring and, clearly, forgettable. Charity Burbage, drunk, had once approached him at the Hogwarts staff Christmas party; in the morning, a well-placed _Obliviate_ had ensured that _he_ had been forgettable.

Not a single encounter came even close to the sheer physical and emotional satisfaction of this single kiss with Lily Evans.

When she slipped her tongue into his mouth, his knees, quite literally, physically weakened, and he was forced to place a hand on the tree trunk next to Lily's face for support. In response, Lily grabbed the front of his robes and pulled his body flush against hers.

Severus found himself in immediate danger of his body behaving quite sixteen years old about it all, and he distanced himself ever so slightly away from, frankly, the object of his overwhelming desire.

She tasted, Severus noted, like strawberries and second chances, which was an entirely inane thought.

When a tiny moan emanated from Lily's throat, Severus very nearly died a second time.

The peal of church bells cut across the village—three o'clock—and Lily, unfortunately, pulled away. "Oh _damn_," she said (and Severus _had_ to ignore the observation that she was breathing heavily, and that her chest was rising and falling with every deep breath, _contain yourself, Mr Snape_). "I've got to get back. I've got duty escorting the third-years, and _every_ time, one tries to stay out after curfew. It drives me mad."

Severus, one hand on the tree trunk and the other somehow wrapped around Lily's waist, nodded. "Yes. Ah. Mad. Indeed."

A slow, satisfied smile crept across Lily's face. "Why, Severus," she said. "Are you, for once, at a loss for words?"

Severus, never one to sacrifice his dignity, settled for nodding. Lily laughed delightedly and pressed her lips to his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

"Ah, Lily," Severus said, as she pressed a series of kisses to the skin where his neck met his shoulder. "Might I, ah. Suggest that we. That you. _Lily_." He reluctantly stepped away from her and snapped, "If you wish to return to Hogwarts within the next two hours might I suggest that you head in that direction _now_, while I am still able to restrain myself?"

Lily blushed. "Well, _really_," she said.

"Really," Severus promised her. He took a step back towards the street and held out his hand; she, after straightening her robes, took his hand and followed him back to the village centre.

"I hope I'll see you at Christmas?" Lily said as they walked. "I mean—I don't suppose you'll be at, ah, home, but maybe you could visit? Mum would like that. If you're available, I mean."

"I shall make myself available," Severus vowed. Lily smiled up at him. Severus gave into the urge to smile back. Lily's smile brightened.

They shortly reached their destination. "I—I really should be rounding up errant third-years," Lily said, regret clear in her voice. "But thank you, for, ah." Lily took a deep breath and blurted out, "Severus, may I call you my boyfriend?"

Severus blinked.

Lily bit her lower lip.

"What a ridiculous question," Severus said unthinkingly.

Lily's eyes flew open. "Excuse me?" she demanded.

Blast, not again. "No, I—Lily," Severus said quickly. "I only meant that I would have to be completely _daft_ to refuse, and that I wish I had made such a proposal myself."

He _was_ completely daft.

Lily smiled. "Oh. Ah. That's—okay. So. Okay, then. Great." She grinned. "Okay."

"Okay," Severus echoed helplessly.

"Okay," Lily repeated. "I. I'll see you at Christmas, then. You'll—okay." She leaned up, pressed one last kiss to his lips, and trotted away towards a milling group of younger students in Gryffindor crests.

Severus heard her say, "Okay, where's Anderson?" as he turned and headed back towards the Three Broomsticks.

In a daze, he headed into the pub and towards the floo, at which he stared for a full minute.

"You have to put the Floo Powder in first, love," Madam Rosmerta's voice came from behind him.

Severus glanced over his shoulder. "Yes. Thank you," he said irritably.

To his surprise, Rosmerta laughed. "Young love," she said fondly. "I cater weddings. Remember that."

Severus, scowling, flung a handful of powder into the flames. "Diagon Alley," he said distinctly as he stepped in, and off he whirled through the grates of London.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience in waiting for this chapter, and thank you for your reviews! I hope to have the next chapter up by Valentine's Day.


	15. November 1976

**Chapter Fourteen  
****November, 1976**

_Dear Severus,_

_Well, Mary's still being a right prat._

_When your last letter arrived—thank you!—right there in front of everybody at breakfast she said, "Oh, is __he__ still writing, then?" And I said, "Yes, of course, what do you expect?" And she said, "I expect you to have better sense than to go 'round with some Slytherin bigot, no matter how smart he's supposed to be!"_

_So then of course Potter perks up and says, "Oi, what's this about some big-nosed Slytherin?" And Mary laughs and says, "I said Slytherin __bigot__, but your way works too."_

_So anyway I hexed her and I got detention and McGonagall said I should set a better example as a Prefect and she forced me to apologise to Mary, who acted all high and mighty about it, like it was totally unprovoked and like she hasn't been sniping about __my__ personal life for the last three weeks, like she's one to talk when she's been dating that Smith—not that there's anything __wrong__ with Smith, he's just got the personality of a rather vigorously boiled cabbage. Which is fine, I guess, if you like that sort of thing._

_Personally, I prefer the striking, darkly handsome, intelligent type._

_39 days til Christmas hols…_

_Love,_

_Lily_

_

* * *

_

_Snape,_

_Don't think that just because you got Evans to call you her boyfriend means you've won. You haven't. You might have the title but I'm the one who sees her every day, remember. So while you're off poisoning guppies or whatever it is you do, who's right in Gryffindor with a shoulder to cry on when for some reason she thinks she misses you?_

_J.M. Potter_

* * *

Severus, his protectively Charmed spectacles firmly in place, resisted the temptation to lean forward over his laboratory table as he, with Master Jigger beside him, stared, transfixed, at two groups of six beakers.

He looked at the group to the left. He looked at the group to the right. He glanced back over at Master Jigger, found the man looking back at him, and immediately looked back at the beakers.

At once, the solution in all twelve beakers turned an effervescent blue. His breath caught in his throat.

Even though he'd truly discovered this potion half a lifetime ago, the process of scientific research was still positively exhilarating.

"Congratulations, Mr Snape," Jigger said. "Your first batch of Mind-Opening Potion is toxic neither by itself nor when combined with Veritaserum."

Severus exhaled. "Excellent," he said. "That makes three trials of the Bank-Cartwright toxicity test. What's the next step?"

Under Master Rotislavic, the next step had been "force the Potion down the throat of a captured enemy of the Dark Lord." Severus rather assumed the process would differ at least slightly this time around.

Jigger, his expression as inscrutable as always, sat back from the table. "We'll need to apply for a testing permit from the International Board of Potioneers," he said, "and then, of course, acquire test subjects. Horace is generally able to provide a handful of of-age Hogwarts students eager for extra credit, but any others will most likely demand…compensation."

Severus rather shared Jigger's obvious disdain for paying the talentless for their only possible contributions to the alchemical world, but there was nothing for it. He nodded. "In addition to the standard group, we'll need a select group of subjects with a natural resistance to Veritaserum," he added, "as well as a selection of those with an imposed resistance."

Jigger frowned. "An astute observation, Mr Snape," he said. "And given that those who have taken the time to build up a resistance to Veritaserum are unlikely to wish to advertise that fact, I daresay we won't have volunteers publically lining up for that select group." Jigger drummed his fingers on the laboratory table. "We'll have to advertise in Knockturn Alley," he said. "It can't be helped. We'll have to compensate them more than the typical subjects and promise total anonymity. That means, of course," Jigger said, glancing up in Severus' direction, "that you'll need to apply for a research grant."

"I had so been looking forward to that," Severus said drily.

"I believe it was you, Mr Snape, who was so very eager to begin original research," Jigger said flatly. "Welcome to it."

There was a moment of silence, and then Severus said, cautiously, "And, ah, is the testing process the same for both applications of our Mind-Opening Potion?"

"I trust," Jigger said, "that you're referring to both the indirect application of interrogation through Veritaserum, and to the more…direct application?"

Severus nodded, and Jigger pressed his lips together. The two Occlumenses regarded one another. "I don't imagine," Jigger said, after a moment, "that we'll have any volunteers upon whom to test that particular application, as those who have taken the time to develop such skills are highly unlikely to allow themselves to be subjected to such a test."

"Ah," said Severus.

"And I dislike the idea of conducting that particular trial without, ah, full disclosure," said Jigger.

"Quite right," said Severus.

"It will do our records absolutely no good to test the effects of our Mind-Opening Potion on subjects whose skill—or lack thereof—in that arena is totally unknown to us," Jigger continued.

It wasn't quite "Vhen I curse zerr mouths open, you apply zee potion," but it was rather more Machiavellian than Severus had anticipated.

"Right," he said.

"Mr Snape," Jigger said gravely, "I believe I have a solution for our current predicament, but I must first have your acknowledgement that you recall the full non-disclosure agreement you signed when you embarked upon this apprenticeship."

Severus, his none-too-negligible curiosity piqued, nodded. "Of course, Master Jigger," he said.

"Very well," Jigger said. "Submit your application for a testing permit and research grant—for the _primary_ purpose of our potion, mind you—to the International Board of Potioneers. I, meanwhile, will speak with my Ministry contact regarding the venue and subjects for our secondary test cycle."

"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said.

"And, ah, Mr Snape," Jigger said, even as he began shuffling through a stack of parchment, "I should commend you on an excellently executed Bank-Cartwright test."

Severus blinked. "Thank you, sir."

Jigger jerked a hand in what was, Severus assumed, dismissal. "Yes, well."

Severus began dismantling the beakers, feeling almost as pleased as he was damnably curious.

* * *

_Diagon Alley, Londres  
__Slug & Jigger's Apothecary_

_Conseil Internationale des Potioniers  
__CERM, Genève_

_Messieurs,_

_Je vous adresse ci-joints deux demandes:  
__-Demande 1.3a, d'autorisation d'analyse sur sujets humaines, et  
__-Demande 5.2π, de la subvention de recherche.  
__Aussi ci-joints sont les résultats des tests de la toxicité._

_Je vous prie de bien vouloir me faire savoir, par retour d'hibou si possible, si mes demandes sont admises._

_En vous remerciant à l'avance, je vous prie d'agréer l'expression de mes salutations distinguées._

_S. Snape  
__Apprenti d'Arsenius Jigger, MP_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Lily,_

_I am sorry that I have caused a rift between you and Miss MacdDonald; please rest assured that was never my intention. My curiosity leads me to inquire as to whether your other friends share Miss MacdDonald's low opinion of your choice in suitors—does Miss McKinnon, for example, also believe you to be making a terrible mistake? (You may skip any description of the attitude of James Potter et al, as I am rather familiar with it.)_

_You may be amused to learn that Ms Cadogan persists in inquiring after my "redheaded lady friend," a moniker, I believe, that implies her tacit approval of our accord. Naturally I do not believe it to be possible for anyone to have any doubt as to your suitability for me; rather, I am continually surprised that anyone—present company, so to speak, included—might consider me suitable for you._

_My research goes well, and Master Jigger and I are moving on to the final stage of testing._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Severus_

_

* * *

_

_Potter:_

_I do wonder how you imagine Lily will react when I show her such a threatening missive._

_S. Snape_

* * *

Severus crossed his arms and stared down at Cadogan impassively. "And you expect me to silently go along with this proposition of yours?"

Cadogan scowled. "Fine," she said, uncharacteristically irritated. "Don't help me. After I switched days with you last month and everything."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me," he said. "Did I, perchance, indicate that I would _not_ cover your extended lunch? No. Only that it would be remiss of me to allow you to escape this conversation unmocked. Quid pro quo, Ms Cadogan."

Cadogan visibly relaxed ever so slightly. "Ah," she said. "Right. Well."

Despite himself, Severus found himself sighing and asking, more seriously, "I trust all is well with you?"

"Oh sure, sure," Cadogan said. "I just have to go to Gringotts, and I'm afraid it'll take a little longer than half an hour."

"Really?" Severus asked mildly. "The goblins are nothing if not efficient."

"With all respect, Mr Snape, I fail to see how my visit to Gringotts is any of your business," Cadogan snapped, and Severus didn't have to be a Master Legilimens to see that she was extraordinarily nervous about something.

He did, however, have to be a Master Legilimens in order to gently push aside her mental barriers in order toand see the cause of her distress, which was exactly what he did.

"I apologise for the intrusion," Severus said smoothly, as he watched the image of Cadogan, in an obviously Muggle flat, gesture toward a copy of the _Daily Prophet_—he couldn't make out the headline, because Cadogan's memory focused on the phrase "of Muggle heritage"—and then write out careful instructions for how to get to a certain intersection on Charing Cross Road, which she handed to a sandy-haired young man who, Severus noted, wore a wedding ring that matched hers. His name was Gordon, and the night before they had—

Severus withdrew from Cadogan's memory.

In his physical present, Cadogan smoothed her short hair and said, "I'm sorry, it's quite all right. I shouldn't've snapped at you, especially when you're willing to help me."

"And I should not have pried," Severus said, marginally satisfied that Cadogan was not, in fact, planning to attempt to rob, or blackmail an employee of, Gringotts.

Cadogan flashed a small, forced smile and said, "Yes, well, thanks for your concern. If you'll excuse me, I'll dash off to my appointment." She pulled on her winter cloak and left the shop—exiting, Severus noted, to the left; towards the Leaky Cauldron, and not the bank.

Aside from Severus, the shop was otherwise empty—it was a late Wednesday morning, after all—so Severus did, as he was wont to do, the prudent thing: He lingered just inside the shop's front door and watched the street until Cadogan passed by, accompanied by the same sandy-haired man from her memory. Unlike in her memory, however, the man was now wearing wizard's robes, and seeming rather bemused about it.

The man was either Cadogan's Muggle husband, or a nudist wizard with whom she was conducting an illicit affair. Severus, on the grounds that a memory of a nudist paramour would have included more of a sense of illicitness—and rather less clothing—concluded that the sandy-haired man was, most likely, Mr Cadogan. Conclusion reached, Severus returned to the counter and awaited Ms Cadogan's return with the air of "minding his own business."

If he Conjured a pair of mirrors in the shop's front so that he could arrange to be outside cleaning the display windows when she and her presumed husband passed by on their way back to London proper, that was merely due to a desire to ensure the safety of his idiotic employee and her Muggle charge.

(What in blazes could have possessed her to bring a Muggle into Diagon Alley when she herself had been the victim of anti-Muggle harassment not two months before?)

So, when Severus saw the pair approaching, he stepped outside to spell the windows clean, and just so happened to step directly into their path. "Ah, forgive me, Ms Cadogan," he said. "I see you've finished with your errand?"

Cadogan, glaring, said, "Yes, almost—" as her husband glanced up at the shop's sign and said, "Oh, I say, is this where you work, Sherry?"

"Yes," Cadogan hissed through her teeth, "but let's get back to London, shall we?"

"Really, _Sherry_," Severus said. "Might not your companion enjoy a tour of your workplace?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No, actually—"

"Perhaps we should discuss the matter inside," Severus said pointedly, and Cadogan, glancing about nervously, nodded her acquiescence.

Severus pushed the shop's door open with a flick of his wand, and was relieved to see that Cadogan's husband did not betray his true nature by reacting in any unnatural way. Either Cadogan routinely used magic for mundane tasks at home, or she had impressed upon him the importance of blending in while they were in Diagon.

For whatever reason.

"So _here's_ the source of that odd smell," Mr Cadogan said as they entered. "And here I thought you were coming home by way of the zoo every night." Glancing at Severus, the man hastily added, "But I'm sure that's normal for apothecaries. It's been a long time since I had to buy supplies for Potions class. You know."

Ms Cadogan looked pained. Severus extended one hand toward her husband and said, "My apologies, I don't believe we've been introduced. I am Severus Snape, Apprentice to Master Jigger."

"Yes, of course," the man said, shaking Severus' hand. "Gordon Graves. I'm Sherry's husband."

Severus had quite forgotten that Cadogan was not the woman's married name. "Ah, yes," he said to Graves. "The violist."

Graves, colouring slightly, nodded. Cadogan glanced back and forth between the two of them. Severus affected a smile. "What brings you to Diagon Alley, Mr Graves?"

Even as Cadogan opened her mouth to protest, Graves was shrugging and saying, "Just some bank business. Sherry's paranoid about some story in the _Daily_, ah, _Oracle_—do you know the one I mean?"

"I don't," Severus said. "Pray tell."

"Just that there was a witch in Brighton who died in hospital, and her family—who weren't, ah…" He glanced at Cadogan, who rolled her eyes.

"Mr Snape isn't an idiot, Gordon," she said. Turning to Severus, she said, "What my husband is attempting to explain is that the witch's Muggle family weren't able to access her Gringotts account—money that they _needed_ to pay her St. Mungo's bill." She scowled. "The official line from Gringotts is that the Statute prevents them from allowing Muggles to inherit from wizards' accounts unless they've been officially added. So I had Gordon added to my account. Not," she added, eyes narrowed, "that it's any of your business."

"I did wonder what business could have possibly warranted risking the attention of those of a certain political persuasion," Severus said, "particularly given the events of this past September."

"What happened in September?" Graves said, and Cadogan threw up her hands.

"Saints preserve us," she said. "I'll just stand over here while you two divulge all of my private business to each other," she said.. "How does that sound?"

"It sounds perfect, actually," Graves said. "Mr Snape, you were saying?"

Severus glanced back at the laboratory door—he really needed to return to brewing, as they were quite low on Pepper-Up—but calculated that he had a few moments to spare yet. "How familiar are you with the current political climate in the Wizarding world?"

"Fairly," Graves said. "I'm aware that Muggle heritage or connections is becoming more and more adamantly regarded as anathema."

"Excellently put," Severus said. "To put it short, your wife was the victim of street harassment several weeks past. She was hit with a few mild hexes—nothing serious, but still cause for concern."

"Excuse me," Cadogan interjected, "but you do realise I am still standing here."

"Sherry, why didn't you tell me?" Graves said, frowning.

"Because it wasn't serious and I didn't want you to worry," Cadogan said. "Now come _on_, I've got to get you back to London. We both have to get back to work."

Graves remained standing where he was. "I'm worried _now_," he said. "Is it quite safe for you to work here?"

"Yes," Cadogan said shortly.

"There are other options," Graves said. "Even if you've not found an orchestra, we both know you can make a comfortable living teaching lessons."

"I hate children," Cadogan retorted. Severus silently awarded 10 points to Ravenclaw.

"Then you'll teach university students," Graves insisted. "But don't feel that you have to—"

"Darling," Cadogan interrupted, "we can discuss this _at home_."

Graves glanced back at Severus, who raised an eyebrow at him. "Ah," Graves said. "Yes. So sorry, Mr Snape."

"Not at all," Severus said drily. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Graves."

"Likewise," Graves said, and then, at last, he allowed himself to be led out of the shop and towards the Leaky Cauldron.

When she Cadogan returned, she silently took her place behind the counter, and when Severus opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head and said, "Thank you for covering my extended lunch."

"You're welcome, Ms Cadogan," Severus replied, and then he headed back down to the laboratory.

* * *

_Conseil Internationale des Potioniers  
__CERM, Genève_

_Diagon Alley, London  
__Slug & Jigger's Apothecary_

_Mr Snape:_

_Enclosed, please find Applications 1.3a and 5.2π, the which have been both approved by the Board of Potioneers. Your grant of research, the sum of 250 Galleons International, will be delivered to Maître Jigger by a representative of Gringotts within the date of 29 November. We eagerly await the results of your trials._

_We wish you, Apprentice Snape, the best of success in your current and future endeavours._

_Régula Sylvestre, Secrétaire Générale  
__Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Magique_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Severus,_

_Marlene's a real friend—she says she trusts me to make the best decision, and we've left it at that. I think it helps that she's a bit older than Mary—not that I'm years more mature than Mary is, just that, Mary's an awfully __young__ 16, and Marlene's almost 18 and is preparing for her NEWTs and everything…in any case, I've been spending a lot more time lately with Marlene and the other seventh-year Gryffindor girls. They're quite nice—I only regret that I'm only really getting to know most of them now that there's only half a year left to spend with them. How strange, that the girls I've shared a House with for over five years are mostly total strangers to me. I only know Marlene from Prefect meetings and the Slug Club. It's even worse with the years below mine—I can't name more than four students below fifth year. Is that terrible? Is there more camaraderie in Slytherin? I wonder if there might be._

_In any case I'm so glad Marlene's around. Mary's still dreadful, and she's got Eleanor and Jeanie on her side, so it's a bit of a wash with my year. (There's the boys, of course, but…well. Remus is all right at least.)_

_"Redheaded lady friend," really! So how much do you two talk about me, exactly?_

_30 days til Christmas hols…_

_Love,_

_Your redheaded lady friend_

_

* * *

_

_Snape,_

_I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't send you any letter. Someone must have been mimicking my handwriting. And stationary._

_Stop writing me._

_J.M. Potter_

_P.S. If you're keeping letters to show Lily you should keep this one, it's only fair._

_

* * *

_

_WANTED: TEST SUBJECTS FOR POTIONS TRIAL_

_Slug & Jigger's Apothecary, Diagon Alley. Subjects wanted for experimental potion testing. Participants will be compensated for their time. Contact Severus Snape, Slug & Jigger's._

_

* * *

_

_WANTED: TEST SUBJECTS FOR POTIONS TRIAL_

_Reputable apothecary seeking subjects with resistance to Veritaserum for experimental potion testing. Anonymity and compensation are guaranteed. Contact S.S., Slug & Jigger's._

* * *

Severus escorted his second-to-last test subject of the evening up the laboratory stairs and to the front door of the empty shop. The young man, flushing a bright crimson, took Severus' proffered Galleons with a muttered, "Thanks," and skulked out the door, which Severus locked behind him.

Severus cast a quick _Tempus_; he had five minutes yet before his last subject was to arrive, so he brought his notes to the back of the shop, where Jigger was seated at the large, wooden desk.

Jigger, without looking up from his papers, asked, "Did the last two trials go as well as the first four?"

"The last one admitted his penchant for ladies' knickers, which he seemed none too happy about," Severus said drily.

Jigger glanced up. "The shame of a healthy sex drive stemming from a religious upbringing, or…?"

"His penchant for _wearing_ ladies' knickers, I should have said," Severus clarified.

Jigger blinked. "I see," he said. "Did he say so explicitly?"

"Rather," Severus said, his lip curling slightly.

"Remarkable," Jigger said. "Excellent."

There was a rap on the front door; Severus returned to the front of the shop, where he opened the door to reveal none other than a much-younger, still-grubby Mundungus Fletcher.

"I'm 'ere for the potions test," Fletcher said, glancing over his shoulder.

"Mr Smith, I presume," Severus said drily, as he stepped aside for Fletcher to enter the shop.

"At your service," Fletcher said. "I'm, ah, here to be of service to the educational community, as it were."

"Your service is appreciated," Severus said.

"So, ah, that service, it's to be, well, compensated, yeah?" Fletcher continued, to Severus' total lack of surprise.

"You will receive your payment once the test has been completed," Severus replied evenly. "And only once the test has been completed."

"Right, right," Fletcher said. "Let's get on with it, then."

"Follow me," Severus instructed, "and _do not touch anything_."

"Of course, of course, of course," Fletcher said, and Severus led him downstairs to the laboratory, where he had set up two chairs in the corner. Fletcher sat down, and Severus took the opposite seat.

"Posh digs you've got here, yeah?" Fletcher commented. "How'd a kid like you end up with a fancy job like this?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mr Smith," Severus said. "In your letter, you claimed to have built a middling resistance to Veritaserum through repeated exposure, is that correct?"

"You said this was totally anonymous, yeah?" Fletcher said. When Severus nodded, Fletcher said, "Then, yeah, I've built up a bit of a resistance."

"Excellent," Severus said. "I have prepared a list of questions that I will ask you, both before and after once we have administered the potions. Please tell me if you object to answering any of these questions."

Severus handed the parchment to Fletcher, who looked it up and down quickly. "Seems all right to me, mate," he said.

"Very well," Severus said, taking his parchment back. "I will ask you to respond to these questions with _untruthful_ answers, which I have prepared for you on this parchment." He handed Fletcher the second parchment; Fletcher glanced at it and snorted in amusement. Severus continued, "I am taking a record of this test with a Dicta-Quill, which I have set up on this laboratory table. Mr Smith, are you aware that you are being recorded?"

Fletcher frowned. "Ah, yeah, you just said—"

"Thank you," Severus interrupted, having no desire to entertain more dialogue with the lout than necessary. "Please, tell me your name."

"Ah, John Smith."

"And are you submitting to this test voluntarily?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Thank you," Severus said again. "I will now ask you the questions that you have agreed to answer. If you would, please respond with the answers that I have provided."

"Ready," Fletcher said, flexing his fingers and grinning in what was, Severus assumed, meant to be a winning fashion.

"When were you born?" Severus asked.

"May 2, 1825," Fletcher read obligingly.

"What is, or was, your mother's first name?" Severus continued.

"Thomas," Fletcher read, smirking.

"Are you enjoying this examination?" Severus asked.

"It's better than a four-course meal," Fletcher read, scepticism clear in his face.

"And are you, in fact, Supreme Mugwump?" Severus continued.

"I am Supreme Mugwump," Fletcher said. He glanced up from the sheet. "This is kinda ridiculous, innit?" he said.

"Indeed," Severus allowed. Addressing his voice toward the Dicta-Quill on the table, he continued, "I will now administer the standard three-drop dose of Veritaserum, against which you have claim to have built a resistance." Fletcher shrugged, and Severus stood up, took the bottle of Veritaserum out of his pocket, and placed three drops of the serum on Fletcher's waiting tongue. Severus returned to his seat.

"Are you ready to repeat the questions?" Severus asked.

"Yes," Fletcher responded immediately, and he looked slightly irritated with himself.

"When were you born?" Severus asked again.

Fletcher was silent for a moment, and then he forced out, "May 2, eighteen twenty—forty—twenty-five."

"What is, or was, your mother's first name?" Severus asked.

Fletcher swallowed and said, distinctly, "Thomas."

"Are you enjoying this examination?" Severus continued.

"'Sallright," Fletcher said immediately, and then hastily added, "It's better than a four-course meal."

"And are you, in fact, Supreme Mugwump?" Severus asked.

"I am—not, no—yes. I am Supreme Mugwump," Fletcher confirmed. He wiped away the sweat that had gathered on his brow and said, "CrikeyBlimey, kid, this is harder than I thought."

"Indeed," Severus said drily. "I will now administer three drops of Jigger and Snape's Mind-Opening Potion, which, as you have been made aware, is still in experimental stages."

"Yeah, yeah," Fletcher said, and stuck out his tongue. Severus obligingly stood, placed three drops of the potion on Fletcher's tongue, and resumed his seat.

"Are you ready to repeat the questions?" Severus asked.

"Oh, sure, why not eh?" Fletcher responded easily.

Severus, pleased, posed the first question. "When were you born?"

"August 13, 1946," Fletcher said immediately.

"And what is, or was, your mother's first name?" Severus asked.

"Iphigenia, but she went by Effy," Fletcher said, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Are you enjoying this examination?" Severus continued.

"I've done far worse for a Galleon," Fletcher said, cringing.

"And are you, in fact, Supreme Mugwump?" Severus asked.

"Cor, no, what do you think, eh?" Fletcher said, and then he slouched back in his chair. "What the bloody hell did you give me?" he demanded.

"A Mind-Opening Potion," Severus said. "It's meant to increase susceptibility to Veritaserum."

"Well it bloody worked," Fletcher said. "Veritaserum just makes you say the correct answer, you know. It doesn't make you keep talking and adding a bunch of details like—"

"Yes, thank you, Mr Smith," Severus interrupted. "If you don't have any further questions, we can proceed back upstairs."

"Could I get away with stealing anything from here?" Fletcher asked—and, immediately, clapped a hand over his mouth.

"No," Severus said flatly. "Upstairs. And might I recommend that you go straight home and speak to no one for the next two hours."

"Yeah," Fletcher agreed. "Probably a good idea. Especially if there's Aurors out. Blimey."

"You should be quiet, Mr Smith," Severus suggested.

"Right," said Fletcher, and Severus led him back up the stairs. At the front of the shop, Severus handed Fletcher the agreed-upon compensation—an outrageous five Galleons—and bid him good nightevening.

"It will be if I can convince Sarah to come up for the night," Fletcher said as he exited, adding, "Damn it all."

Rolling his eyes, Severus shut and locked the door.

"Was that the last one?" Jigger asked from the back of the room.

"Yes," Severus confirmed, walking towards him. "He had a mild resistance to Veritaserum, and, like the others, our potion was still more than effective. I'll compile the notes for you by morning."

"Excellent," Jigger commented. "Then we can begin our second phase of testing next week. I've secured permission from the Ministry."

"Permission, sir?" Severus repeated.

"Yes," Jigger said, frowning. "As I said." He held up a parchment; Severus took it, his eyes skimming the text rapidly, and read:

_Arsenius—_

_Yes, by all means. I've attached a list of the prisoners suitable for this trial of yours—as you requested, I've noted which are known to have employed Occlumency. I've also taken the liberty of enclosing a list of questions for each—I can't tell you how much it would aid several ongoing investigations if we had the answers to these questions._

_If the guards give you any trouble, Floo me straight away._

_Regards,_

_Bartemius Crouch  
__Head, Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

Severus glanced up from the text. "Sir?" he said, when no further eloquence occurred to him.

Jigger nodded. "We'll head to Azkaban Tuesday next," he said. "I trust your Patronus is up to standard."

Severus' throat went dry. "It is," he confirmed.

"Good," Jigger said. "Then we'll have no problems."

"None at all," Severus agreed.

* * *

A/N: On the subject of the previous chapter's reviews, Severus would like to say, "I am not, nor have I ever been, 'cute.'" I, however, have adored every single review that has come in. Thank you for your feedback and criticism, which make me a better writer and a happier person.

In the next chapter-which I will post by March 1-Azkaban and the possibility of the Slug Club Christmas party.


	16. December 1976, pt 1

**Chapter Fifteen  
****December, 1976**

Severus had never been to Azkaban.

It was remarkable, really. Recently—twenty-two years from now—he had been far too busy running the school for (and against) the Dark Lord to aid in shuttling however many Muggleborns to the prison. The Dark Lord hadn't needed Severus' assistance with the breakouts of '96 and '97—the Dark Lord's control over the Dementors was quite enough to ensure success in those particular endeavours—and there was really no call for a school teacher to visit a prison, so Severus had given Azkaban very little thought between 1981 and 1996 (with the obvious exception of being very, very pleased that Sirius Black was rotting away inside…until 1993, at which time he had become very, very irate that Sirius Black was not, in fact, doing so).

But what was truly remarkable was that he had managed to avoid even a temporary stay in the prison after the Dark Lord's momentary downfall; in retrospect, he realised that Dumbledore had hidden him within Hogwarts until Severus' name had been (marginally) cleared. (At the time, his usually-formidable observational skills had been somewhat dulled by the experience of having his heart, such as it was, metaphorically ripped from his chest.) As far as he knew, aside from himself, only Malfoy had been able to avoid a passing familiarity with the prison in the winter of '81—the other suspected followers of the Dark Lord, thanks to Bartemius Crouch's zeal, were at least held there until their trials commenced (if, of course, they were lucky or well-connected enough to receive trials at all).

But now, thanks to this selfsame Bartemius Crouch, sixteen-year-old Severus Snape—unMarked, ostensibly never having cast an Unforgivable—was following his Potions Master down an over-long pier over the crashing, tumultuous waters of the North Sea.

Azkaban was, naturally, surrounded by an exceptionally strong Anti-Apparition barrier, and Floo travel was restricted to only the senior-most Ministry officials (none of whom, if Severus were to hazard a guess, were fond of frequenting the prison). As such, Jigger had Side-Alonged Severus to this unmarked pier, where a small boat awaited to transport them to the island.

A middle-aged wizard, clad in uniform DMLE robes, offered Jigger his hand for balance as the Potions Master stepped into the boat, which had, fortunately, been magically tethered to the pier. Severus, however, was left unaided and, forgetting that he was yet two inches shy of his adult height, misjudged the distance down into the boat. He stumbled slightly and caught himself with both hands on the boat's edge.

The DMLE wizard shot him a sympathetic smile. "I've got a boy your age," he said. "All arms and legs. You'll grow into it, lad."

"Do watch your balance once we're inside, Mr Snape," Jigger said tiredly.

"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said, taking his seat and wishing he would just finish _growing_.

(To eliminate inadvertent clumsiness, of course. Not to be closer to Master Jigger's height. That would be entirely petty and inane.)

The DMLE wizard leaned towards Master Jigger and, as though Severus couldn't hear him quite plainly, asked, "Not to pry, but you do have the boy's parents' permission to bring him here…?"

Jigger scowled and, to Severus' pleasure, snapped, "I am _the boy's_ Master and legal guardian. He'll do as I direct and, moreover, it is _his_ potion being tested."

The DMLE wizard lifted his hands in an attempt to pacify him. "My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to intrude," he said. "It's just—the guards are, ah, especially fond of younger…souls, as it were. It can be quite hazardous."

Jigger just raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that I would expose my apprentice to unnecessarily risk, Mr Hawkins?"

"Of course not, sir," said Hawkins. "Just making sure you'll have Patronus charms at the ready."

"Naturally," Jigger said. When he offered no further comment, Hawkins tapped his wand against the side of the boat, and off they sped toward the distant, hulking shadow of Azkaban.

The mist hit Severus' face, distorting his vision through his glasses, but Severus wasn't certain that violating the Restriction for Underage Wizardry in front of an agent of the DMLE on their way to prison was an advisable action, so his vision remained blurred and his face remained damp. As for his "younger soul"…

Severus wondered if his soul was 38 or 16, and if it truly remained whole either way.

Perhaps he had double the quantity of soul.

How did one measure soul? Clearly it could be quantified in _some_ way, as one could, obviously, split one's soul in twain (or, as the case could evidently be, _in_ _eahta_). But as to whether it was possible for the soul to be measured against some standard unit—

A slap of frigid water met Severus' face and shocked him out of his reverie. To his annoyance, the DMLE wizard chuckled. "You'll probably want drying and warming charms, lad," he said. Severus, glad for tacit permission to defy the Restriction, wordlessly cast the two charms in quick succession—followed by a wordless _Impervius_ to his glasses. Hawkins nodded his approval. "You may do just fine inside at that," he commented quietly. Jigger harrumphed.

As the boat drew nearer to the prison, the fog grew thicker—Severus was unpleasantly reminded of the dismal weather in England circa 1997—and he was, surprisingly, relieved when the boat finally reached the island shore; at the very least, they would be going indoors.

Hawkins directed the two of them to disembark—Severus, gratifyingly, doing so without incident—and led them to a small, steel door in the shadow of a rock. He quickly tapped the door with his wand in an intricate pattern that called to mind the entrance to Diagon Alley, and it shortly swung open to admit them. Severus and Jigger followed Hawkins inside.

The small, dimly-lit room within was, it turned out, practically as misty as the prison's exterior, and although it was naturally less windy, it was, if anything, chillier. Once they had entered, their guide—who had made no move to remove his cloak once indoors—flicked his wand at a fireplace in the corner of the room. Once the flames reached a decent size, Hawkins flicked his wand once more and, with a mutter, produced an oversized, moderately bright Patronus—some kind of large sea mammal; a walrus?—which settled easily in front of the hearth.

Seeing Severus' glance, Hawkins explained, "The guards never enter this room, but I find keeping an active Patronus helps with the mist. It gets far too damp in here otherwise." He gestured toward a small table and indicated for them to take two of the four chairs there. "Please, have a seat," he said. "I'm sure you're eager to perform your tests, but I wouldn't feel right sending you in there without a cup of tea."

Jigger frowned, but relented. "Very well," he said. "Briefly." He sat, and Severus joined him at the small, wooden table. Severus glanced around the room; its floor and walls were, unsurprisingly, made of stone, which could not have detracted from the pervasive chill. Aside from the tables and hearth, the room contained a worn-looking cot, a short bookcase, and a sink and stovetop. One large, steel door with several locks sat in the wall opposite the door to the outside, and an open wooden door on a side wall appeared to lead to a small lavatory.

Hawkins' Patronus sat, unmoving, in the centre of the room.

"I hope you'll forgive me, Master Jigger," Hawkins said, as he busied himself with a kettle, "if I go over Azkaban safety regulations with your young apprentice."

"By all means," Jigger said drily.

"Thank you," Hawkins said. "Now, lad, there are Dementors stationed throughout Azkaban. All are utmost professionals and have been notified that two civilians matching your descriptions will be visiting the prison this evening." Hawkins reached for three mugs, into which he placed—to Severus' dismay—rather dusty-looking teabags. "They have all been instructed to maintain a distance of at least ten feet from you at all times. But if they begin to get over-curious—or if you begin to experience any of the, ah, side effects of Dementor exposure—at _any time_, you are welcome to engage the Patronus Charm." The kettle began to whistle; Hawkins turned off the stove and poured water into each of the mugs, which he Levitated over to the table.

As he took his seat, he said, "If you keep those simple instructions in mind, you should be fine. Heaven knows Master Jigger has been here often enough. But, ah, if there is an absolute emergency—which we don't at all expect, mind you," he added earnestly, "—there are emergency levers located at fifteen-foot intervals throughout the prison corridors. Pulling any one of those will cause this bell"—he indicated a large bell near the large, metal door—"to ring, and I'll immediately Floo the Ministry for Auror assistance and, in the meantime, send Wally—that's my Patronus, there—to your side."

"Will the bell also alert the other guards?" Severus asked, disliking the prospect of one fat Patronus standing between himself and a Kiss.

Hawkins frowned, clearly (inexplicably) puzzled. "Well, ah, I suppose they'll hear it, but I'm not sure what you think they'd do—I mean, once a few get into a frenzy, it eggs the others on—"

"Mr Hawkins," Jigger interrupted. "Mr Snape is, I believe, inquiring as to other _human_ guards."

Hawkins blinked. "But we don't have—oh." He turned to Severus. "I guess I didn't explain. We don't need human guards around here—the Dementors keep the prisoners well enough in line. It's just, ah, me this evening."

"Just you?" Severus repeated.

"Rogers left after we did the meals," Hawkins said, as though that explained everything.

Severus' head hurt.

"I understand what we're to do if we encounter trouble from the Dementors," he said, "but what about from the prisoners?"

Hawkins appeared confused. "That's not at all likely," he said. "As I said, the Dementors keep them well enough in line. A few of the ones you'll be interrogating—oh, yes." He Summoned a sheaf of paper from the bookshelf across the room, which he handed to Jigger. "I've listed out the cells they're in. I believe you have the questions for them? Yes. Anyway, some of them are a little feisty, but they're the ones who've been here less than a year. But the rest, well, once they've been here long enough…" He shrugged. "But if one of the prisoners gives you trouble, just Stun him, and try to make sure he's back far enough away from the bars." Hawkins sipped his tea, swallowed, and then, as an afterthought, added, "With his mouth closed."

When Severus didn't reply, Hawkins urged, "Please, drink your tea, before it gets cold."

Severus, the chill of the prison seeping through his robes, took a sip of his mediocre tea.

Jigger flipped through the parchment Hawkins had handed him. "This appears to be in order," he said. "May we?"

"Yes, of course," Hawkins said, rising from the table. "Like I said, use your Patronus when you need to, pull the lever if you have to. You should have no problems with the prisoners."

"Yes, Mr Hawkins," Jigger said, "I believe we understand that." Severus smirked inwardly.

"All right, well," Hawkins said, as he quickly undid the locks lining the large metal door, "Best of luck. Knock back here when you've finished."

With that, Hawkins pushed open the door, and Jigger and Severus stepped into the main corridor of Azkaban prison. The door slammed shut behind them, and Severus listened as Hawkins re-engaged the locks.

In the corridor, it was neither eerily silent nor full of the wailing lamentations of prisoners; instead, a low murmur—a mélange of low conversation, pacing feet, and quiet cries—wafted down the halls and pooled around Severus' ears. It was quite chilly, and rather damp, and their footsteps echoed as Severus followed Jigger at a brisk pace down the corridor.

Other than the mist and the chill, Severus saw no evidence of a single Dementor.

Jigger drew them to a halt some fifteen yards down. "The first subject is #73," he said in a raspy whisper. "You recall the particulars?"

Number 73—Convicted in 1974 of the premeditated murder of her husband through poison and given a life sentence in Azkaban; the Wizengamot ruled to spare her the Kiss because of extant, but inconclusive, evidence that the man had been abusive. Moderate Occlumency skills. Crouch's direction: _Find out who sold her the poison._

"I do," Severus replied in a low voice.

"As we discussed, I will Legilimize her first without, and then with, the potion," Jigger said. "You will have the proper dose prepared."

"Certainly," Severus confirmed, and then Jigger led them both around the corner to a cell containing one small, over-thin woman, who lay unmoving on the worn, grey sleeping pallet.

"Seventy-three," Jigger said, smacking his hand against the bars. "Awake. Come here."

When the woman didn't move, Jigger scowled and flicked his wand at her—"_Ennervate_"—and, looking quite impatient, waited for her to sit up. Once she had, he repeated, "Seventy-three. Come here."

The woman stood and walked shakily to the front of her cell. "We've had meals today," she said, brown eyes wide. "I know we have. Haven't we?" Her eyes filled with tears. "Am I starting to forget…I thought we had meals."

"You have," Jigger said shortly. "Calm yourself."

The woman, if anything, cried harder. "I knew we had meals," she said. "I knew it, I knew it."

Jigger's lip curled. "Stop these hysterics at once," he said. "We're here to ask you a question. You will answer us truthfully. Understood?"

The woman took a step backwards into her cell. "I don't know anything," she said wetly.

"Who sold you the poison you used to kill your husband?" Jigger asked.

She shook her head, shivering. "Nobody. I made it. Nobody sold it to me. I told the Wizengamot—you can ask Professor Slughorn, he would know I could—nobody sold it to me."

"Somehow, I doubt the esteemed professor would be eager to speak in your defence," Jigger said drily. "Look at me, 73—_legilimens_."

Severus watched as 73 fell silent, her eyes locked with Jigger's. A full minute went by—and, suddenly, 73 was blinking and shaking her head.

"Excellent effort," Jigger said. "Perhaps that image would have been more convincing if you had pictured a laboratory that did not look identical to the Hogwarts Potions classroom."

She shook her head. "No, that's where I brewed it. That's what it looked like," she babbled. "I did, it's where I brewed the looking that…I did."

"Calm down," Severus ordered. "I'm going to give you a new nutritive potion that the Ministry has mandated for prisoners who don't eat enough." Jigger raised an eyebrow at him, Severus shrugged slightly.

"How do I know it's not poison," 73 said warily.

"If they were going to poison you, they'd put it in your food," Severus snapped. "Now come here and open your mouth."

Seventy-three, amazingly, seemed to accept that argument, and stepped forward. Severus reached through the bars and placed three drops of the Mind-Opening Potion on her tongue; she swallowed.

"Seventy-three," Jigger said, and—"_Legilimens_."

Not twenty seconds went by before Jigger broke the connection and said, "Why ever would you go to such efforts to protect a Knockturn Alley salesman whose name you don't know and whose face you didn't see?"

"I should have brewed it," 73 said wretchedly. "It was mine to make but I couldn't make it, couldn't make it work, I couldn't do it like _he_ always said I couldn't, I was useless at it so I had to go and _buy_ it, bye it, supplied it wasn't mine and I lied it wasn't—"

"Thank you, 73," Jigger said loudly, over the woman's disjointed jabbering. "Go lie down."

Seventy-three staggered back to her pallet and lay down, muttering to herself. Jigger hit her with a mild _somnolus_.

"Very promising," he remarked to Severus. "Let's move on to 82."

Number 82—Convicted in 1975 of killing, via Killing Curse, a member of the Wizengamot; suspected member of the INLA (as Severus understood, it was a Muggle terrorist group). It was also suspected, but not proven, that the attack had been made possible through inside information about the Wizengamot member's whereabouts. Master Occlumens. Crouch's direction: _Find out who his Ministry contact was._

Severus nodded.

"I suppose you'll be prying into my mind next, then, eh?" piped a man's rather high voice from the cell opposite 73's. Severus turned around; a short, pale man of medium build was leaning against the bars, regarding them with a steady gaze.

"You'll be eighty-two?" Severus said.

The man nodded. "At your service," he replied.

Severus was, momentarily, surprised by the man's apparent lucidity. Then again, Occlumency was the single best safeguard against Dementor exposure, and 82 was purportedly a Master Occlumens—and, perhaps more importantly, he had been in the prison for only a little over a year.

"Eighty-two," Jigger said, stepping forward, "you'll be assisting us in a potions trial this evening."

"I'm guessing I won't be needing to consent," 82 replied.

"Correct," Jigger said. "Please tell us, 82, who your Ministry contact was when you were planning the murder of Ogden Bones."

Eighty-two snorted. "I told the Wizengamot that there was no conspiracy," he said. "Frankly, I find this insistence that I was working as some kind of spy rather _insulting_."

"Noted," Jigger said, and then he was pointing his wand into the cell. "_Legilimens_."

This time, a full three minutes—Severus kept count—went by before, suddenly, Jigger was staggering backwards. "_Damn_," he said, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Eighty-two looked on from inside his cell. "What was her name, Arsenius?" he asked, smirking.

Jigger, still breathing rather heavily, pointed his wand at 82. "_Silencio_." Turning to Severus, he said grimly, "Give him the potion."

Severus was, frankly, disappointed in Jigger's Legilimency skills, having assumed they were at least equal to his own—although, in retrospect, he had no grounds for that assumption. "Without a second attempt?" he replied cautiously. "In our other trials—"

"Hang the other trials, Apprentice, and _give him the potion_," Jigger snapped. "I've no desire to risk lowering my shields in this prison again."

"Please, allow me," Severus said. "I would welcome the opportunity—"

Jigger snorted. "This is neither the time nor the place to try your hand at Legilimency," he said, and Severus belatedly realised that, although sixteen-year-old Occlumenses were _rare_, they were not nearly so rare as teenage Legilimenses. But—

"I would very much like to try," Severus said, and before Jigger could speak a word in refusal, Severus turned to the still-silent 82 and prepared to enter the man's mind—

Only to feel a prickle of warning at the nape of his neck, which soon turned to a growing chill and a sinking feeling as—yes—he turned around to see two Dementors approaching from the left corridor—

And another Dementor approaching from the right corridor.

"Leave us," Jigger commanded the wraiths. "We are not your prisoners."

Eighty-two retreated to the far side of his cell. From within the opposite cell, 73 whimpered.

Severus immediately recognised his mistake.

Occlumency was an excellent protection (one of the few protections) against Dementors. Legilimency required, even at the highest skill level, a slight lowering of Occlumency barriers. Of the four Occlumenses in this corridor, one's barriers had recently been destroyed completely; one's Legilimency attack had backfired; one had, barely, defended himself against said attack; and, finally, Severus had just lowered his barriers in order to look inside 82's mind—

Making this corridor home to four suddenly-opened minds.

Evidently, the Dementors had not been able to resist.

They drew closer.

Jigger promptly cast a textbook-perfect Patronus—it was, it turned out, a rather large eagle—which proceeded to chase the first two Dementors away from them; the third Dementor remained, and continued to glide towards them. Jigger glanced back at Severus, expectation clear on his stern face.

By reflex, Severus' formidable mind turned to his standard inspiration: James Potter had failed to protect Lily Evans' son, and he, Severus, was succeeding. "_Expecto patronum_," Severus said, and was rewarded with the merest wisp of silver smoke.

The chill grew as the Dementor drew closer.

Severus' vision dimmed as the Dementor approached. It seemed his eighteen-year means of conjuring a Patronus were, suddenly, no longer adequate. Cold seeped through his scalp, past his lowered Occlumency barriers, and sank into his very mind. He lifted his wand again—he could not form the words—his vision closed and re-opened on a different plane where he was calling Lily "Mudblood" and then she was dead, killed by his own actions when he told the Dark Lord of the Prophecy—and then he was on the North Tower and Dumbledore was dead, falling, killed by his own hand when, again, he did the Unforgivable—and Lily's eyes in Potter's face were twisted, twisted with hate just like his own and there was _nothing he could do_—

There was a sharp _crack_ and a flare of pain, and Severus found himself blinking up at Master Jigger, who had struck him across the face.

Brown eyes bored into black. "Your patronus," Jigger said, "_now_."

Severus blinked. James Potter had failed to protect Lily Evans' son and—

But Lily Evans' son didn't exist.

"_Now_," Jigger repeated, and Severus was kissing Lily under a tree in Hogsmeade and James Potter would _never touch her again_—

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

An enormous silver doe erupted from the tip of Severus' wand and cantered around the two wizards, driving the remaining over-curious Dementor back into the main corridor of the prison.

Jigger turned his attention back to Severus. "You led me to believe that your Patronus was adequate," he said.

Severus, still feeling rather weak about the knees, found himself leaning against the cold, stone wall for support. "I—I thought it was," he said.

"Whatever memory you initially chose to operate off of was clearly insufficient," Jigger said. "If we have another such visit, I trust you'll keep in mind the thought you were able to employ successfully."

"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said.

Jigger continued to stare at him for a moment longer. At last, the man sighed and reached into a pocket, pulling out—to Severus' total disbelief—a bar of Honeydukes chocolate.

"Take this, since you clearly did _not_ prepare properly for this excursion," Jigger said, thrusting the chocolate into Severus' hands.

Despite his best efforts, Severus' fingers shook slightly as he unwrapped the chocolate. A moment later, the confection was sending warmth back into his mind and his extremities. "Thank you," Severus breathed.

"You will keep your mind _closed_, Mr Snape, as long as we are inside this prison," Jigger said, clearly irate. "Of all the foolish—to lower your mental shields—Hawkins _said_ the guards are especially fond of younger souls."

Severus blinked and swallowed. "My apologies," he said. "I certainly did not intend to misjudge my—"

"You did," Jigger snapped. "I should send you back to Hawkins and complete the trials myself."

Anything but that. "Please, sir," Severus said. "It won't happen again."

"If it does, it'll be your life, Mr Snape," Jigger said. "Finished?"

Severus Vanished the chocolate wrapper. "Yes."

"Good," Jigger said. He stared at Severus for a long moment and, at last, said, "Follow me. _Closely_."

Severus followed Master Jigger down the corridor, an eagle ahead and a doe behind.

* * *

Hours later, they Apparated into the back alley behind the apothecary. Severus unlocked the door and held it open for Jigger, who preceded him inside. The older man stopped, though, by the desk at the back of the shop, on top of which had been left a creamy parchment envelope. A scrawled note beside it read, "This came for you this afternoon—S.C."

"What could Horace possibly want," Jigger muttered, which prompted Severus to notice the 'S' embossed on the envelope. Jigger tapped the missive with his wand; the parchment flew out of the now-opened envelope and into Jigger's hand.

After a brief moment, Jigger rolled his eyes and handed the parchment to Severus, who read:

_My dear Arsenius—_

_I'm having a little get-together at the school Saturday next, a bit of Yuletide cheer if you will, for a select group of students and honoured guests. Consider this your invitation! You really must attend this year, and bring young Mr Snape with you. I simply can't wait to hear from you both how his apprenticeship goes—one of my most promising (former) students you know! Drinks and hors d'oeuvres at six._

_All best,  
__Sluggy_

Severus glanced up from the parchment. His eyes met Jigger's.

"You realise we are obligated to attend Horace's… fête," Jigger said with evident disdain.

"We are?" Severus replied with matching distaste.

"As you are surely aware, Horace's web encloses us both," Jigger said, scowling, "especially you." He plucked the parchment out of Severus' hand and gave it a thorough look. "I shall Apparate us both to Hogsmeade at six o'clock Saturday next," he said. Looking back up at Severus, he added, "You will, of course, make yourself presentable."

Severus, who was, after all, still feigning the appearance of a teenage boy, affected a scowl. "Yes, Master Jigger," he said.

"Have Ms Cadogan work that day," Jigger continued. "Make sure you take one of her weekday shifts, or else I'll have to pay her," he said dismally, "overtime."

Severus restrained the urge to smirk. "Of course," he said.

"Good," Jigger said. "Be sure to brew him something…amusing."

"Amusing?" Severus repeated.

Jigger shrugged, a quick, jerky uptick of his thin shoulders. "Something frivolous yet complicated," he said. "No need to pre-emptively decant your Felicis"—Severus refrained from starting at the reference to the potion he'd had simmering for nigh on six months, which Jigger had not heretofore acknowledged that he'd noticed—"but anything requiring skill to brew and a certain…flightiness to enjoy will suffice."

"I see," Severus said, as he did—but what, exactly, to brew?

"Arrange matters with Cadogan and have something brewed by Saturday," Jigger said and then, inexplicably, added, "I will procure the candied pineapple." Then, he reached into the desk and pulled out, unbelievably, another bar of chocolate.

"Here," he said, handing it to Severus along with Slughorn's letter. "Eat this before bed."

Severus blinked. "Thank you, sir," he said, taking the items.

"Don't _ever_ endanger yourself in such a way again," Jigger said, brown eyes flashing. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Severus said, although he still didn't, quite, understand why Jigger hadn't seemed more concerned with his _own_ safety. After all, the man's eagle Patronus had been quite otherwise engaged when Severus was failing to produce his own.

"You'll have tonight's trials written up by tomorrow morning," Jigger said. "We should be able to submit our full report to the Board of Potioneers by January at the very latest. It—" Jigger swallowed. "Despite your incredibly foolish actions early this evening, your potion is, on the whole, a success."

Severus had known full well that it would be, so there was absolutely no reason for him to feel so incredibly gratified as he nodded and said, "Thank you, sir."

"Don't ever do that again," Jigger repeated, and then he exited the shop, leaving Severus standing near the staircase with a bar of chocolate and an invitation to Horace Slughorn's Christmas party.

* * *

_My dear Lily,_

_I would like, if I may, to express how very grateful I am to have you in my life._

_Sincerely yours,  
__Severus_

[Enclosed: A dried campanula blossom.]

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews! Coming up. . . well, it's Horace Slughorn's Christmas party, of course.


	17. December 1976, pt 2

**Chapter Sixteen  
****December, 1976**

"And you guarantee this is fresh?"

Severus fought the urge to scowl. "Yes," he told the customer. "I brewed it myself four days ago."

His customer, a pursed-lipped woman with greying hair, narrowed her eyes. "And you're qualified to brew potions for sale, are you?" she asked.

Severus heard the back door open. He glanced over his shoulder—as he'd expected (and, frankly, hoped), Cadogan was stepping through the door, pushing back the hood of her winter cloak and stamping her boots free of snow. Rolling his eyes, Severus flicked his wand at her and Vanished the melting ice. Cadogan grinned. "Cheers," she said. "Hope I'm not late."

"Not at all," Severus said smoothly. He turned back to his obnoxious customer and said, "Madame, my associate will be more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

The woman frowned. "But I—"

"Good evening," Severus said, bowing slightly, and he headed for the rear staircase.

As he brushed past Cadogan, he ignored her whisper of "you _owe_ me, Snape."

Severus quickly mounted the stairs to his miniscule flat and, after a brief shower, threw on the black dress robes (slightly conservative, lightly worn, greatly taken in) he'd purchased two days before at Madam Corner's eponymous shop. With a few minutes to spare before six, he slipped the potion he'd brewed for Slughorn into his pocket and skittered down the stairs to the shop, where Cadogan—fortunately—was alone.

"That woman was awful," Cadogan said by way of greeting.

"Rather," Severus acknowledged. "Is Master Jigger downstairs?"

"He's not here yet," Cadogan said. "He said, er, well." She cringed. "Please don't curse me."

And then, unbelievably, she pointed her wand at him, and before he had a chance to throw up a shield, she snapped off two quick, wordless spells in the direction of his face.

"I'm so sorry," Cadogan said. "Master Jigger said I should—he said you were going to Hogwarts and—"

"What did you cast?" Severus said, low and dangerous.

"A hair conditioning and drying charm," Cadogan said, still visibly cringing. "I'm sorry, he asked me to make sure you looked, ah, 'presentable.'"

Severus was going to sack her.

"He also said you can't sack me."

Damn.

Severus put a hand up to his hair. It did not, admittedly, feel much different; drier, certainly, and perhaps lighter, and possibly slightly straighter than usual.

He could not believe he'd let his guard down for a single instant. Clearly, no one could be trusted.

"It doesn't look that different," Cadogan said contritely. "Just, it won't, ah, clump."

Severus pressed his hand against his temple. "What could possibly have led you to believe that I would appreciate this?"

"Oh, I knew you'd hate it," said Cadogan. "And me. But Master Jigger said—"

The shop's back door opened. Severus cast one last glare in Cadogan's direction before turning to the shop's rear, where Jigger was standing just inside the door. "It's six o'clock, Mr Snape," he said. "I hope there's an excellent reason why you're not yet ready to depart."

Severus suppressed a sigh and the urge to hex the both of them as he headed for the back door. "My cloak is here," he said, retrieving the garment from its position next to Cadogan's on the rack. He swung it on, threw up the hood, and nodded.

"Good evening, Ms Cadogan," Jigger called into the shop, and then he led Severus to the back alley. As he followed, Severus fought the inane urge to cast an itching hex on Cadogan's cloak.

Or, quite possibly, the urge to set it on fire.

"You have the potion?" Jigger asked.

"Naturally," Severus replied, no evidence of immense annoyance in his voice whatsoever.

"Good." Jigger glanced at Severus' cloak—it was his student cloak, but he'd naturally removed the Hogwarts and Slytherin crests—and then, abominably, appeared to peer at Severus under his hood. Severus bristled, shook the hood further into his face, and proffered his elbow to Jigger. After a brief, silent pause, Jigger nodded, wrapped his fingers around Severus' bicep, and Side-Alonged him to Hogsmeade.

They landed just outside the Hogwarts gates on a path lightly dusted with snow. Without a moment's hesitation, Jigger headed towards the gates, where a large, hooded figure waited under a lantern, a roll of parchment in hand.

"Good evenin'," came the unmistakable voice of Rubeus Hagrid as they drew near. "Are yeh here for Professor Slughorn's party?"

"We are," Jigger said, nodding. "Arsenius Jigger, Master of Potions and Defence, and his apprentice."

Hagrid ran his finger down the parchment and nodded. "Here yeh are," he said. "Please, come—oh!" He glanced back at the two smaller men. "That's never young Snape there?"

Jigger raised an eyebrow at Severus. Severus suppressed a sigh. "Yes, Hagrid," he said."I'm apprenticed to Master Jigger."

"Well, well," Hagrid said, smiling inexplicably. "I knew yeh'd finished school early, but I never did hear wha' exactly yeh were doin'. Then I guess you won't be needin' an escort to the castle, then?"

"I believe I have it well in hand," Severus said, starting up the path.

"Thank you, Mr Hagrid," Jigger said—perhaps pointedly—which Severus did his best to ignore. A moment later, Jigger was in step beside him.

They walked in silence until they were halfway up the hill to the castle and Jigger quietly asked, "Who is that enormous man?"

"The groundskeeper and Care...taker," Severus replied. "It's speculated that his mother was a Giantess."

"I see," Jigger said. "I assume he has no magic?"

"He does," Severus refuted as they climbed. "Or—so it's speculated. I heard that he was expelled early in his education for harbouring a dangerous pet."

Which was true; he had, in fact, heard as much. Granted, he'd heard so from Dumbledore, from Hagrid himself, and from more than one school governor—but he'd "heard" it nonetheless.

"Really," Jigger said. "Am I to assume the animal wounded someone?"

"Badly," Severus affirmed.

"Fascinating," Jigger remarked.

They reached the main entrance of the castle. Severus led Jigger through the Entrance Hall—threading his way through the few students milling about and ignoring them entirely—and down the stairs to the well-lit dungeon corridor leading to Slughorn's office and chambers. As they progressed down the corridor, the sounds of conversation and clinking glasses grew louder, until they reached the office in question. The door was open, so Severus stepped in.

Slughorn's office—always crowded with cushions and tapestries and sundry luxuries—was especially full at the moment, containing not only an over-large Christmas tree dripping with enchanted icicles (which were, fortunately, not _themselves_ dripping) and various garlands, but also at _least_ a good four dozen extra people in the form of Slughorn's guests. Severus peered into the back of the room; it seemed—he hoped—that someone had Transfigured extra space in the room, and that Slughorn was permitting the party to spill over into his adjoining chambers. His office was no closet, but neither was it a banquet hall.

"I trust you've no further need to hide beneath your cloak?" Jigger's gravelly voice came from over Severus' shoulder. Severus, who had certainly not been _hiding_, scowled and threw back his hood.

"Arsenius!" Slughorn called from three yards away. He excused himself from his conversational partners—one of whom Severus vaguely recognised as a future member of the Wizengamot—and waddled over to greet the new arrivals. "And Severus, how wonderful. Please, please, come in. We're a bit crowded—I do keep telling Albus that I _need_ a larger office, truly, and if he doesn't make good on it for next year I'll retire, I will—but we'll make room, we always do!" Slughorn gestured alarmingly with a goblet of wine as he spoke. "Please, please, come in, come in. Your cloaks can go on the rack, here—Albus said we didn't have funds to hire Squib servers, and more's the pity. House Elves are excellent for most things, of course, but ask one to hang up your cloak for you and you'll never hear the end of it! Ah, what's this, Arsenius?"

Jigger, who had managed to remove his cloak, revealing respectable, deep blue dress robes, had handed Slughorn a paper-wrapped tin. "The smallest thanks for your invitation," Jigger said.

Slughorn rattled the tin, his eyes lighting up. "Ah, Arsenius, you know me too well! I'll bet it's even from Salem? Yes, I see it in your eyes! They always did have the sweetest crystallised pineapple in Salem. You're too good to me, Arsenius, just too good, and—why, Mr Snape!"

Severus, having removed his own cloak, had managed to catch Slughorn's eye and present him with a stoppered green bottle. "My best wishes for the season," he muttered.

"How wonderful," Slughorn said. "Let's see—" He held the potion up to the light and, after glancing at Severus and receiving a permissive nod, gave the bottle a swirl. "Now, the colour and viscosity…" He glanced back at Severus and indicated the stopper. "May I?" Severus nodded; Slughorn uncorked the bottle and gently wafted the scent towards his nose. "Ahh," Slughorn said thoughtfully. "A mood-altering elixir, to be sure…" He smelled it again. "It's not—it's not quite Euphoria, yet…"

"It is a variation thereof," Severus said. "To be vaporised and inhaled, rather than ingested."

Slughorn raised an eyebrow. "Very inventive, Mr Snape, and how very appropriate for the occasion! The potency?"

"Mild, assuming the use of an ambient vaporiser. Naturally, a water pipe would provide a more concentrated dose."

"I never thought I'd say this, Mr Snape," Slughorn said, "but how utterly _charming_. Shall we try it out this evening?"

Severus, gauging that "I really couldn't care less" would be an inappropriate response, said, "As you wish. I've also taken the liberty of writing down my methodology, should you wish to reproduce this particular variation." He took a small scroll out of his pocket and handed it to the delighted professor.

"Wonderful," Slughorn said, pocketing the scroll. "I'll surely ask more about what's going on in that laboratory of yours later this evening, but I'm afraid you simply must excuse me for the moment—hosting duty calls! Don't you dare leave before I get a chance to really interrogate you!" Slughorn winked; Severus believed the words and not the gesture. "Incidentally, my boy," Slughorn added, "I do like what you've done with your hair." With that, he waddled off.

Severus glared at Jigger, who merely granted him a quick jerk of an approving nod. Severus, who had neither need nor desire for such approval, asked, "Now what?"

Jigger raised an eyebrow. "We mingle."

"Is anyone else from our field here?" Severus asked.

Jigger glanced briefly about the room. "Probably not."

"So we're to mingle with people in whom we have no interest whatsoever and, what—make small talk?" Severus asked.

Jigger, to Severus' surprise, actually seemed to grind his teeth. "I thought that was understood," he said.

"Is there alcohol?" Severus said darkly.

"You're underage," Jigger said unforgivingly, "which—ah, yes. Do feel free." He jerked one hand in dismissal.

"I—beg your pardon?" Severus asked, thoroughly confused.

"I should have realised you'd wish to seek out your former classmates," Jigger said. "Go on. I expect you to rejoin me when Horace wishes to speak with us."

"I have no desire to seek out my former classmates," Severus said earnestly.

Jigger scowled. "I _said_ that you may."

"_Fine_," Severus spat. He stalked off into the bowels of the party, adding an unconvincing "Thank you" back over his shoulder, and tried to find a corner in which to lurk inconspicuously.

It wasn't that he wanted to _hide_, as Jigger had accused—he merely had no desire whatsoever to make his presence known to whichever of Slughorn's student lackeys were brown-nosing about the party. Severus had not, originally, been asked to any of Slughorn's fêtes—the Slug Club, he had gathered, was for the boisterous privileged, a group to which, it must be admitted, he had _never_ warmed.

Moreover, he was _certain_ that the group included Potter.

So Severus made his way to the far side of Slughorn's office, where the temporarily-expanded rooms created a convenient nook, which fortunately appeared to shelter a small sofa. Severus slipped around the corner into the nook and, peering out into the main room, gratefully took his seat. His glasses were smudged from the snow; he took them off and wiped them on his robes.

"Hello, Snape," an unpleasantly familiar voice said from next to him on the sofa. Severus turned around to see damned Remus Lupin's damned affable face blinking at him.

"What are you doing here?" Severus demanded, slipping the glasses back on.

"I've never been sure," Lupin replied calmly. "I mean, sure, I'm a Prefect, but I've always held that to be due entirely to the process of elimination. I can only assume that Slughorn is either dazzled by my ability to feign innocence when caught red-handed or is attempting to prove his open-mindedness by inviting the token, ah, less than well-to-do halfblood."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Have you been drinking?"

Lupin pointed with his glass. "Nobody's watching the bar in Slughorn's W.C."

"There's a bar in Slughorn's _toilet_?"

"I think it's meant to go in Slughorn's living quarters, but someone's moved it," Lupin said. "Lily said she was going to find out who did it and dock them points, but my money's on the old bloke in the corner. The one with the hat? He looks like he enjoys a laugh."

Severus processed Lupin's slightly inebriated (and surprisingly eloquent) ramblings and, startled, stood up. "Lily's here?"

Lupin nodded. "Sure. She always comes to Slughorn's parties." He looked up at Severus. "Oh. Oh! Yes. She's, ah, last I saw she was in Slughorn's quarters with her friend—"

Severus nodded and started off across room. He slipped into Slughorn's sitting room—which was marginally less crowded than the man's office—and glanced about. Lily was neither near the W.C.—which, strangely enough, did, in fact, have a bar cart parked in the vicinity of the bathtub—nor on the over-stuffed settee. Behind the bookshelves, though—

"That's so exciting! I remember you were hoping they'd come during the Ravenclaw match."

Lily's melodious voice wafted through the music and conversation, but Severus' breath did not, for an instant, catch in his chest.

"Well of _course_ you wouldn't want them to be there for Hufflepuff. I mean, you _know_ I have friends in Hufflepuff, but when it comes to Quidditch, I mean, of course you want the scouts to see you up against the best," Lily's voice continued.

"The 'best'!" exclaimed a harsher female voice. "Some friend!"

"Oh _Marley_, honestly," Lily said. "You know I meant second-best, and anyway there's not another beater at this school who could even come _close_ to you."

Severus crept quietly around the large, freestanding bookshelf that served as a divider between the "sitting" and "study" portions of the room and peered into the dimly-lit space behind the shelf. Sitting on the floor were two girls in Gryffindor robes: facing him, leaning back against the wall, was a girl with short, curly hair—Lily's friend McKinnon, the future Order member—and with her back to him—

"See, this is why I keep you around," McKinnon said, her broad laughter stopping short when her eyes met Severus'.

"What?" Lily said. She turned around.

Severus stepped fully into view.

"Severus!" Lily exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "Severus! How did you—why didn't you—" She flung her arms around him, holding him tightly, and said into his collar, "I had no idea you were coming."

"I didn't know you'd be here, and I didn't wish to mention that I'd be visiting Hogwarts if there was no way I'd be able to see you," Severus said gently. "I'm only here as Master Jigger's apprentice, and—you know his disposition. I couldn't know if I'd be able to get away."

"I'm so glad you did," Lily said, squeezing him once more.

McKinnon cleared her throat loudly, and Lily, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, drew back, slipping her hand into Severus'. "Severus, I'm sure you've met Marlene," she said.

Severus bowed slightly in McKinnon's direction. "Miss McKinnon," he said smoothly.

"All right, all right," McKinnon said. "No need for formalities, ah, Snape. We were just talking Quidditch. Do you know Quidditch?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Does Lily?"

McKinnon snorted, while Lily mocked offense. "What do I need to know beyond the fact that it's Gryffindor for the Cup this year?"

Severus had barely registered a trickling sensation of dread when James Potter swung into view from behind the bookcase with a nauseating "Up Gryffindor!" Potter shot a grin into their dimly-lit corner. Severus contemplated hexing it off his face.

"Hello, Lily," Potter continued. "I happened to be passing by and I heard you talking about Quidditch and I thought you might—_Snape_?"

"Oh, so you've noticed," Severus said drily.

"Potter," Lily said distastefully, "since when have you been in the Slug Club?"

"Oh, you know," Potter said, leaning against the bookshelf. "Old Sluggy invited me, oh, four years ago, when I made Quidditch as a second-year, you know, and I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about." Potter swallowed, and added, "No big deal."

"What an innocuous motive," Severus remarked.

Potter looked at him. Potter looked at Lily. Potter looked at Lily's hand in Severus'. Potter looked at his shoes.

"Potter!" McKinnon cut in. "What did you think you were trying to pull at practice, then? How many times do I have to tell you not to fly _at_ the Bludgers?"

"Heyyyy, McKinnon," Potter said, his stance relaxing. "I can't possibly explain my fast-thinking strategy to you. Your poor little Beater's brain couldn't handle it."

"As the _team captain_ I _better_ know," McKinnon retorted. "And my poor little Beater's _bat_ will make sure I do. Now sit _down_ and tell me what you think you were doing."

"Come on," Lily said softly in Severus' ear. "She'll keep him there long enough." She pulled him back towards Slughorn's office.

Severus fought the urge to shiver, and followed.

Lily led them towards the refreshment table ("It's mostly disgusting, but there's at least one fruit tray that hasn't had sugar added to it") and poured them each a generous goblet of Butterbeer ("I'm reasonably certain someone spiked it"). Severus reached for a napkin, ignoring the younger student next to him—until the younger student cleared his throat and said, "Snape, what a surprise to see you."

Severus glanced over. Oh, joy. "Black," he said. "Good evening."

"Good evening," Regulus replied. "Are you—are you here as Professor Slughorn's guest? I mean, of course you are, obviously, you're here. I, er, this is my first Slug Club party." Regulus swallowed. "Well, naturally, as you wouldn't have seen me here before."

Severus felt, as was becoming an unpleasant custom, oddly generous around the nervous boy. "This is my first Slug Club party as well."

Regulus peered up at him. "Really? Why weren't—I mean." He cringed. "I'm sure I'm only invited since, well, Sirius. Since I'm the heir now." He glanced up and hastily added, "Not that being the heir to a great family is the most important thing in the world or anything."

Severus blinked.

"Oh," Regulus said, suddenly looking over Severus' shoulder. "I should've—ah, hello, Miss Evans."

Severus glanced back at Lily, who was looking, fortunately, rather bemused. "Hello, Regulus," she replied kindly.

Unpleasantly, Barty Crouch appeared at Regulus' elbow. "Reg," he said intently, "I overheard Sluggy say that Arsenius Jigger is here. Let's find him; I really should say hello for Father, and you can ask after that Snape character."

"Oh, Snape's here," Regulus said, indicating Severus with a wave of his hand. "He's Lily Evans' date."

"Oh, really," Barty said uninterestedly.

"You realise we're both standing right here," Lily commented.

"So are you coming?" Barty asked Regulus, ignoring Lily completely.

"And you realise that since Severus actually came _with_ Master Jigger, he could easily introduce you, right?" Lily continued.

Barty turned to look at her briefly before focusing his attention on Severus. "Ah, Snape. I don't suppose you could—"

"No," Severus said.

"Really," Barty said, frowning.

Slughorn waddled up to the table. "Ah, Severus, excellent. So glad you're enjoying the food, it's just the best, isn't it? I do apologise for drawing you away from your present…company," he said, glancing at Lily and the two fourth-years, "but I simply must introduce you to Professor Springer, who's here from the College of Alchemy and Potions at NYUM—never too early to think about the future, my boy." Slughorn wrapped a pudgy hand around Severus' arm—rather like he was about to Apparate him away—and, with a parting, "Miss Evans, Mr Black, Mr Crouch," dragged him through the assorted merry-makers and across the room.

Severus glanced back at Lily, who smiled softly and shrugged, mouthing, _Later_. Severus nodded and allowed himself to be led across the expanded office towards Slughorn's desk, which seemed smaller than usual in the larger, crowded room. Leaning against the desk was a middle-aged wizard—Severus placed him in his mid-sixties—who was listening to, shock of shocks, a pleasantly-chatting Master Jigger. "Jeffrey," Slughorn said, releasing Severus' arm, "this is the young man in question. May I present Severus Snape, Arsenius' apprentice."

Severus shook Springer's hand. "Good to meet you, Severus," Springer said. "Arsenius was just telling me that you'll be publishing within the next couple of months already—you must be very proud."

"If all goes well," Severus acknowledged. "Master Jigger and I have a bit more investigation left yet, but we'll most likely be submitting to the March _PQ_."

"I can see why Arsenius was willing to bend his 'no apprentices' rule," Springer commented to Slughorn. "Publishing before he sits the QUAILs? I've got to say, I'm impressed."

"I was not in favour of that particular timeline," Jigger said drily, "but his methodology is sound."

Springer snorted; Jigger shrugged. Slughorn turned to Severus and explained, "Arsenius and Jeffrey were at Salem together."

"'Together' isn't exactly how I'd put it," Springer said with a wry smile. "More like, 'Arsenius was a very important post-M.P. when Jeffrey was a lowly undergraduate.'"

"He insisted on visiting," Jigger said, "my _office hours_."

"Oh, yeah," Springer said fondly. "I forgot how much you hated that."

"I don't suppose you're willing to be any more forthcoming about your research than your Master, Severus?" Slughorn asked. "We're terribly curious."

Severus raised an eyebrow in response. Springer laughed openly.

"Oh, Arsenius, I _do_ see why you made an exception for this one," he said.

"Severus _is_ exceptional," Slughorn said ridiculously. "Did I mention what he whipped up for me? An inhalant variant of the Euphoria Elixir, very clever, and just the thing for a party. I was just thinking about giving it a whirl."

Severus, sensing his chance to escape what was, all told, a fairly unproductive conversation, asked, "Would you like me to see a House Elf about a vaporiser?"

Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder. "There's a lad. By all means!"

Severus nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Professor Springer," he said. "Please excuse me."

"Nice to meet you, Severus," Springer said. As Severus slipped away from the trio of potioneers, he heard Springer say, "Remind you of anyone, Arsenius?"

Severus set off across the room—briefly pausing to call for a Hogwarts Elf and inform him that Professor Slughorn had need of a vaporiser—and headed back to the refreshment table. Lily was not to be found—neither, fortunately, were Regulus or Barty—so Severus circled the office in search of a tell-tale flash of deep red hair.

Instead, he found Remus Lupin again.

"Oh, Snape," Lupin said. "Did I already ask if you've done something different to your hair?"

Severus scowled. "No."

Lupin nodded. "Have you?"

Severus scowled more deeply. "_No_."

"Must be a trick of the light," Lupin said.

Of all the ridiculous… "Have you seen Lily?" Severus demanded.

Lupin smiled crookedly. "That's nice," he said, pausing to sip whatever libation he'd liberated from the toilet bar. "I mean, I think it's nice. Have I told you that—"

"Yes, it's 'nice,'" Severus said. "_Lily_. Have you seen her?"

"Everyone's always looking for Lily," Lupin mused. "Never for me. Five years I've been coming to these parties, just me and Lily—Sirius was invited straight off the bat, but he wouldn't hold for any 'Pureblood nonsense,' and even after James got his invite, it's not like he'd go without Sirius, until now—oh." Lupin blinked. "I meant to thank you."

"Whatever for?" Severus said.

"James is trying so hard to out-mature you that my hopeless task as Gryffindor Prefect has become _much_ easier," Lupin said. "You—can I say this?—you're the _best_ Gryffindor Prefect, Snape. I mean that."

Severus' lip curled. "Don't."

"Right." Lupin nodded. "James went that way." He pointed towards the castle corridor.

"I am looking," Severus said distinctly, "for _Lily_."

Lupin blinked. "So was James," he said.

Severus swore creatively and sped off after them.

He exited the office and, after a quick _Point Me Lily Evans_, turned right and walked down the hallway. As he approached the corner, his ears picked up the low murmur of conversation, and he slowed his pace accordingly. After casting a quick silencing charm on his shoes, he crept to the wall's edge and listened.

"…want me to say?" Lily was asking. "That the only thing standing between you, me, and eternal love is my _boyfriend_?"

"Well, yeah," Potter said obnoxiously, "that'd be great."

"Well, I can't say that," Lily said gently, and in Severus' mind, Slytherin won the House Cup.

There was a pause, and then Potter said, "Oh. I see."

"Look, Potter," Lily said, "you've been abnormally decent the last couple of months—"

"_Several_ months," Potter interjected childishly.

"Fine, _several_ months," Lily amended. "But that doesn't change the fact that you spent _years_ acting like a complete prat—"

"I was a kid!"

"—and making Severus' life _in particular_ completely miserable," Lily continued. "Do you honestly expect me to just forget all of that?"

"Well—I—" Potter sputtered. "What more can I _do_? I've been polite to Snape—"

"Black hasn't," Lily pointed out.

"I'm not in charge of Sirius," Potter retorted.

"I don't think _Sirius_ is in charge of Sirius," Lily commented.

"_Sod_ Sirius," Potter said heatedly. "I guess I just wanted to know if…" He swallowed audibly. "If it's me in particular you really don't like, or if you're just mad—and I mean that in every sense of the word, no offense—for Snape. And…if it's me in particular," he continued, "what more can I do differently?"

There was silence for a moment. Severus' fists clenched of their own accord. At last, Lily said, "Potter, you've been behaving like a decent human being lately, and believe me, I don't want to discourage that—"

"All right!" Potter said.

"—but asking a girl _with a boyfriend_," Lily emphasised, "what you can do to make her like you? That's just—it's just not on."

"Okay," Potter said. "So it is me in particular."

"My God, this is frustrating," Lily said.

"You have no idea," Potter said morosely.

Lily sighed. "Look, Potter," she said, "I'm with Severus, and _nothing_ you do is going to change that."

Severus' mental Slytherins cheered.

"But," Lily continued, "if you keep acting decently—and stay away from Severus—well, maybe someday we could be friends."

"Excellent," Potter said, and then, more enthusiastically: "Excellent. That's really excellent."

"That's _friends_, Potter, mind you," Lily said drily.

"Yeah," Potter said. "I got it. Okay. I'm glad we had this chat, Evans. Very good. Okay." Severus heard Potter get to his feet. "I'm going to head back to the party and, ah, make sure Remus hasn't given himself alcohol poisoning," Potter said.

"Good idea," Lily said.

Severus quickly and wordlessly Disillusioned himself.

"Okay," Potter said. "Ah, see you around."

Potter walked right past the Disillusioned Severus, who, in turn, waited for Lily to follow. When a moment passed without Lily's appearance, Severus _finite_'d himself and peered around the corner; Lily was sitting on the cobblestone floor, knees drawn up to her chest, looking quite lost in thought.

"I did wonder where you'd gone," Severus said softly.

Lily glanced up, her expression immediately changing to one of delight. "Severus," she said. "You managed to escape!"

"At last," Severus said. "May I join you?"

Lily gestured grandly to her side. "By all means," she said.

Severus walked to Lily and slid down the wall to join her on the floor. Feeling bold, he stretched his arms, segueing casually into wrapping one arm around Lily's shoulders. Gratifyingly, she leaned into his side and placed her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, Sev," she said, "I've missed you so much this year."

"The feeling is quite mutual," Severus replied, his face heating for no reason.

"I mean, I know it's for the best—you really were wasting your time here, and apprenticing to Master Jigger is the best opportunity you could—oh!" Her eyes flew open and she looked up at him. "You never told me. How did your trials go for your new potion?"

Severus ignored the prick of a chill that visited the base of his spine and said, "Excellent. We'll most likely be publishing this spring."

Lily grinned. "That's so exciting," she said, inexplicably leaning forward. "I take it things are still going well with Master Jigger?"

"Fair enough," Severus said. "He's as impossibly high-handed as ever, but—"

And then Lily pressed her body and her lips against his, and all coherent thought was lost.

His fingers threaded through her silken red hair, trailed along her delicate jawline, caressed the outer shell of her ear, and did not—did _not_—venture lower than her neck. Her hands grasped at his ribcage, pulling him closer; he acquiesced not reluctantly, and—

A loud cough caused them to spring apart (Lily, he noted, looking attractively flushed, Merlin damn it all).

"Miss Evans," Slughorn said, beaming down at them, "Severus. As much as I regret breaking up this _entirely inappropriate_ enterprise, Arsenius has announced his intention to depart. Much too early, if you ask me, but he's never been one for parties! Unlike some, I see." He winked. "I'm sorry, Miss Evans, but rules are rules. Five points from Gryffindor for, ahem, canoodling."

Lily blushed. Scowling, Severus stood and extended a hand to Lily, helping her to her feet. "I'm sorry, sir," she said to Slughorn as she stood. "It won't happen again."

"None of my business, none of my business!" Slughorn said merrily. "Just see it doesn't happen right outside my office, eh?" He turned away and added, "Do be sure to return within the next five minutes—I don't much fancy sending Arsenius out to find you, Severus," before he left.

Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. Unbelievably, Lily started giggling. When Severus glanced at her inquisitively, she said, "I'm sorry, it's just—that was the least convincing telling-off I've ever had. I think he's _proud_ of you."

Severus grimaced. "You may be correct," he said.

"Of course I am," Lily said easily, slipping her hand into Severus'. "Come on. Let's try to avoid any more embarrassment—or, in Sluggy's case, disturbing approval." She pressed one last, brief kiss to Severus' lips—alarmingly heated for what was, on the surface, a relatively chaste action—and led him back towards Slughorn's office.

"It was wonderful to see you," she said as they slowly walked. "I was actually planning to write you tonight—what are your Christmas plans?"

Severus blinked. "I'll be working in the shop on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day."

"But not on Christmas, I hope?" Lily asked. Severus shook his head, and Lily beamed at him. "Then you can have Christmas dinner with us. Please, Sev, you _must_—if I tell Mum you've no other plans, you know she'll _insist_. Please say you will."

"I—if you're sure?" Severus asked. Lily nodded. "Then how can I possibly refuse?" he said.

"Wonderful," Lily said. "Okay. I'll owl you with the time. I can't wait." They reached Slughorn's office. "I'll probably head back to the Tower as soon as I find Marlene," she said. "I'll see you soon." She squeezed his hand and disappeared into the party.

After a few deep breaths, Severus followed. Unpleasantly, Jigger was standing just inside the door, already dressed to leave. "Good," he said. "Put on your cloak. We're leaving. I've taken the liberty of saying your good-byes to our host and to Professor Springer."

Severus retrieved his cloak and had only just pulled it on when Jigger set off down the hallway. Severus walked quickly to catch up, and as soon as they had started ascending the stairs, Jigger hissed, "A _Hogwarts student_, Mr Snape?"

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, thoroughly confused.

"Horace told me he caught you…fraternising with one of his _students_," Jigger said. "He seemed to find it funny, which I certainly do _not_." Jigger glared and added, "I understand the girl in question isn't even _of age_."

Severus, who had absolutely no desire to delve into the deeper implications of this subject, merely retorted, "Neither am I."

They reached the top of the stairs. Jigger seemed to consider this information. "So you weren't…" He trailed off.

"Master Jigger, she and I were born within weeks of one another," Severus responded with complete truthfulness.

"I see," Jigger said. "Then. Regardless." He scowled. "Do recall the importance of _discretion_, Mr Snape."

"Believe me," Severus said, "I truly wish I had."

"See that you do in the future," Jigger said.

They headed for the castle's exit. Severus, recalling Jigger's insistence on a hasty departure, asked, "I beg your pardon, sir, but is that the reason you wished to leave?"

"Not entirely," Jigger said. "Horace had begun liberally diffusing your little present. The atmosphere had become far too…festive for my liking."

"Ah," Severus said. He rather hoped Lily and McKinnon had been able to return promptly to Gryffindor Tower; Merlin knew what the already-soused Lupin and always-witless Potter would do under the influence of a mild Euphoria elixir. (He refused to consider the probable conditions of Regulus Black and Barty Crouch.)

Severus and Jigger exited the Entrance Hall and stepped into the cold night. They walked without a word beneath slowly falling snowflakes until Jigger grumbled, "So…what is the young lady's name?"

Severus glanced over at him. "Whose?"

"Your, ah, paramour," Jigger said, quite as though the words were being ripped from his throat.

Severus could not believe that he was having this conversation. "Lily," he said. In accordance with his well-honed sense of danger, he did not add _but please don't feel obligated to continue this line of questioning_.

"Ah," Jigger said. "I—ah."

Thankfully, they made the rest of their journey in silence.

* * *

A/N: I would be remiss not to make mention of GatewayGirl's _Blood Magic_, a Severitus challenge fic that a) should be read by, ah, everyone who enjoys such things, and b) is the first story that comes to mind when I think of recreational potions use; for this reason, Severus' host gift to Slughorn owes a bit of a debt to GG's wonderful story (and, obviously, to _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_). Check it out.

More importantly, an _enormous_ thank you to everyone who continued to leave encouraging reviews and comments during my updating slump. Even when real life was crushing down on me and I had no idea when I would have the time, energy, or drive to sit down and continue writing this chapter, each review made me smile. Thank you all for your patience, your kind wishes, and your support.

Coming up: Christmas at the Evanses and a birthday (or two).


	18. December 1976, pt 3

**Chapter Seventeen  
****December, 1976**

Severus, the combined scent of Pepper-Up and hangover remedy clinging to his hair, trudged up the laboratory stairs. The week preceding Christmas had, thus far, been an unpleasant one—he'd had to work Cadogan's Monday evening shift, and Jigger had insisted that he spend the following days not putting the last touches onto their submission to _Potions Quarterly_, but rather shoring up the shop's stocks of those potions and draughts most frequently purchased during the holidays. In the morning, he would have the dubious pleasure of joining Cadogan in the shop for the predicted Christmas Eve rush.

Severus was not fond of Christmas.

He pushed open the door and headed for the rear staircase—

"Not to be rude," Cadogan called after him from behind the counter, "but I was wondering if you were planning to keep giving me the silent treatment all day tomorrow."

Severus turned around. "I was not," he said, "giving you the 'silent treatment.'"

"So it's just a coincidence that you haven't said a word to me since Saturday?"

Severus stared at her impassively. "I simply had nothing to say to you," he replied.

She threw up her hands. "I was just doing what Master Jigger asked me to!"

"As I recall, that particular excuse fell out of favour at Nuremberg," Severus said flatly.

Cadogan blinked and, with commendable sarcasm, said, "Really?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. She raised one back.

_Fine_.

Severus shrugged and, uninterestedly, asked, "How terrible do you imagine it will be tomorrow?"

Cadogan wrinkled her nose. "A woman already asked me to sell her, quote, 'something to poison my mother-in-law with.'"

Severus, his interest piqued despite himself, asked, "Did you?"

"Like I want to be in the papers as the shop witch who sold the asphodel to the crazy lady," Cadogan said. "I gave her a Calming Draught instead." She rolled her eyes. "I hope you stocked up on that."

"Naturally," Severus replied.

"And Pepper-Up—"

"And Hair of the Dog, and emulsion of bismuth," Severus said drily. "I didn't realise you had been put in charge of the store's stocks, Ms Cadogan."

Cadogan had the grace to seem chagrined. "Sorry," she said. "I just can't imagine the riots if we were to run out tomorrow." She looked faintly ill and added, "You don't think it'll be quite as bad as the Hogwarts rush…?"

Severus' lip curled in response.

"Jaysus," Cadogan said.

"Rather," Severus agreed. "On that cheerful subject, please do excuse me. I've only so many hours in which to finish…" He trailed off, a new horror dawning in his mind. "Ah, Ms Cadogan," he said carefully.

Cadogan, perhaps unconsciously, took one step backwards. "What?" she said warily.

"Given that, ah, it's near Christmas…" Severus trailed off.

Cadogan eyed him.

"I—you—" Severus, frustrated, swallowed. "You didn't…"

At once, Cadogan's expression changed, astoundingly, into one of amusement. "Are you trying to ask if I got you a _present_?"

Severus glared. "I fail to see how this is _amusing_," he said.

"Of course it isn't," Cadogan said easily. "It's anything but funny to be _terrified_ at the thought of receiving a Christmas present." She pressed her lips together, obviously stifling laughter.

Clearly, the woman hadn't been forced to spend _fifteen years_ exchanging _gifts_ with near-strangers and barely-tolerated "colleagues." Severus had done his best to discourage such gift-giving, as it rarely resulted in a mutually beneficial exchange and most often involved both parties receiving something for which they had neither use nor storage space. He had, eventually, offered to supervise one of night of detention to each faculty member foolish enough to persist in giving him a _present_, a gesture that had, fortunately, excused him from the excruciating tedium of holiday shopping. (After all, cauldrons always needed scrubbing.)

Cadogan took a deep breath and said solemnly, "No, I didn't get you a present. I hope you're not disappointed." Her lips twitched.

Severus scowled. "Good _evening_, Ms Cadogan. Do be sure to lock up properly."

"When do I ever not?" Cadogan retorted, but Severus was already on his way to his flat.

The next day was not, quite, as bad as he had rather anticipated; although the shoppers were many, they generally came in for just one or two items—the apothecary was not, it must be admitted, a popular source for Christmas gifts—and even when harried, which they often were, they still maintained a nonsensical air of indefatigable cheer.

Severus, ringing up one last late afternoon customer—who, like those before her, wished him a "very happy Christmas"—idly calculated how many months of cheer Wizarding Britain had left.

The laboratory door opened, and Severus, out of months-long habit, stepped expertly out of the way. He bid the customer a good evening and turned to greet Master Jigger.

"Will our stores be adequate?" Jigger asked without precursor.

"I believe so," Severus replied with an incline of his head. "Certainly until Monday."

"Excellent."

Cadogan, cloak in hand, walked up from the back of the shop. "If that's the last customer, I'll be heading off then," she said. "Gordon's mum is joining us for dinner and I want to have time to get the takeaway out of the containers before she gets there." She rolled her eyes and added, "Honestly, if that woman expects me to cook a full Christmas dinner tomorrow _and_ dinner tonight she's delusional."

Jigger blinked. "Well." He cleared his throat and said, "Enjoy your holiday, Ms Cadogan. I've taken the liberty of adjusting for…overtime pay for your work today."

Cadogan broke into a smile. "Cheers, Master Jigger. I appreciate it."

Jigger jerked one hand at her in dismissal. "Yes. Well."

"Happy Christmas, both," Cadogan said. When both of them merely nodded at her, she smiled in evident amusement—for whatever reason—and said, "I'll see you Monday then," and headed out of the shop.

Jigger turned to Severus. "As a stipended apprentice, of course, you aren't eligible for overtime, but I thought it appropriate to allow you Saturday next off."

Severus paused, then carefully asked, "That's when the shop is closed for the first of January, correct?"

"And?" Jigger asked blandly.

In all fairness, Severus supposed Jigger _could_ order him to be brewing that day, even if the shop itself were closed, so he elected to be prudent and reply, "Thank you, sir." Then, before Jigger could turn and depart without an additional word—as was, admittedly, his wont— Severus reached under the counter and pulled out a somewhat lengthy roll of parchment. "I finished the submission last night," he said, extending it towards Jigger.

Jigger raised an eyebrow, but accepted the parchment from him. He unfurled it, gave it a cursory glance, and nodded. "Excellent," he said, rolling it up. "I'll naturally examine it further, but it seems to be in order." He tucked it in the pocket of his cloak, said, "I'll leave you to lock up," and turned to leave—and then he stopped in his tracks.

Jigger turned back around to face Severus. "Do, ah," he said, with an uncharacteristic hesitation that made Severus—nearly two decades a spy—somewhat nervous, "Should I need to contact you tomorrow, you'll be…?"

Severus, relieved, replied, "In Manchester, at the home of a…friend."

"Ah," Jigger said. "Good." He cleared his throat, and moved once more as though to depart.

Belatedly, Severus realised that there was, in fact, no potential reason whatsoever for Jigger to need to contact him on 25 December. With a twinge of guilt—not the soul-crushing sort he'd been living with since 1981 (to which he was certainly acclimated), but a new variety altogether—creeping into his chest, Severus asked, "And, ah, yourself, sir?"

Jigger's mouth twisted in the manner Severus had come to recognize as a wry half-smile. "I will be with the Slughorn family," he said.

As Severus didn't _blurt_, he did not even briefly entertain the notion of blurting, "Voluntarily?" Instead, he nodded and said, "Do pass along my greetings."

Jigger nodded, and, each assured of the other's well-being—although Severus recognised it would take more than Veritaserum to force either of them to admit it—they bid one another good evening.

* * *

Severus, once more cursing the fact that his exemption from the Trace surely did not apply to Manchester, fought the urge to cast a quick _tempus_ as he walked briskly towards the Evans home. The Portkey from London to Piccadilly Gardens (he'd landed in a "disused" transport station lavatory, which, regardless of its use or disuse, was disgusting) had been delayed, and the only bus running on Christmas Day—which had arrived twenty minutes _after_ its scheduled time—only came so close to the Evans home. As a result, Severus had been forced to walk over two miles in an early afternoon fog that continually threatened to turn to drizzle, and although he was rapidly approaching his destination, he was almost certainly late.

Bah, humbug, indeed.

Wiping irritably at the condensation on his glasses, he turned up the Evanses' street and traversed the final yards to their front door. He rang the bell, checked the status of his gifts, thanked Merlin he'd thought to apply a weatherproofing charm before leaving his flat, wished he'd thought to do the same to his coat, and attempted to shake his hair into looking tolerably presentable.

The door opened to reveal Mrs Evans, looking as slim and smiling as ever, who had not yet removed the apron from her alarmingly red dress. "Oh, Severus, dear, I'm so glad you've come," she said, opening her arms for a fortunately-brief and awkwardly-executed hug. "Dinner isn't quite ready yet—I'm still putting the finishing touches on—but please, come in out of that dreadful drizzle, your hair must be soaked."

Severus decided not to point out that, in fact, his hair always looked like that, and stepped inside. "Thank you for extending the invitation, Mrs Evans," he said. "I do hope my additional presence hasn't inconvenienced you."

"Honestly!" Mrs Evans said, swatting him on the forearm. "It's no trouble at all. Petunia's young man is here as well." She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the living room, and added quietly, "Of course he doesn't know about…"

"Lily's school?" Severus supplied easily. Mrs Evans smiled and nodded. "Not to worry," Severus said. "Having gone to the same 'boarding school in Scotland' I'm rather familiar with it."

Mrs Evans, disturbingly, winked. "And now you're off at university, I hear."

"Indeed," Severus replied. "And it's in my, ah, chemistry studies that I was able to make this." He pulled a glass vase filled with flowers out of his bag and presented it to Mrs Evans, who took it with a confused smile.

For lack of higher inspiration, Severus had charmed a simple vase and filled it with Ever-Blooming Solution, which he hoped made a suitable gift. With a glance towards the living room—where, presumably, Petunia's "young man" lurked—Severus explained quietly, "Any flowers you place into this solution will stay fresh, and the vase will not break even if dropped."

From behind, Severus heard the grating sound of a childish huff. He turned around to see, unsurprisingly, Petunia Evans, looking quite as though Severus were something unpleasant that a guest had tracked onto the rug. (Given the probable state of his clothing and hair, that was admittedly not an unjust comparison.)

"Petunia, dear, look who's here," Mrs Evans said brightly. "You remember Lily's friend Severus, of course."

Petunia, lips pursed, nodded shortly. Mrs Evans beamed. "I'll just go put these on the table, Severus, it really was too thoughtful of you. Petunia, be a lamb and tell your sister her friend is here?" And with that, Mrs Evans departed in a cloud of perfume.

"She's upstairs," Petunia said. "You can go get her yourself."

"Petunia, charming as always," Severus said with a sneer. He headed towards the staircase.

"I don't know what Lily could possibly see in you," Petunia said as he passed her. "Then again, I really couldn't say what's appealing to…people," she emphasized," like you."

"Do be clear, Petunia," Severus said, turning around. "I'm not entirely certain if you are, in fact, referring to wizards, or—"

Petunia's eyes flew open. "Shut up!" she hissed.

"Your gentleman doesn't know about your sister, I take it?" Severus prodded.

"Mother and Father claim that Lily goes to a school," Petunia said distastefully, "for the _gifted_. Don't you dare imply otherwise."

"Why would I?" Severus said. "That is, after all, the truth."

Petunia, gratifyingly, reddened and flounced off into the kitchen. Severus, smirking, mounted the stairs.

The Evans home was much like the other houses on the "proper" side of town—that is, two floors, with three bedrooms and two baths on the first floor and the other rooms below. Severus reached the top of the stairs and, long-buried instinct guiding him, turned right and headed for the open door at the end of the hall.

It had been some years since he'd been inside Lily's bedroom (specifically, it had been twenty-four, or perhaps two), but very little had changed; the furniture was white, the walls cream, and the bedding blue-green. There was a cork board above a small, white desk; tacked to it were two missives from Hogwarts: an acceptance letter and a notification of Prefecture, the only indication that this bedroom was slept in not by an 11-year-old Muggle girl, but by the 16-year-old witch currently curled up on the bed with a copy of _Advancements in Charming_.

He supposed she couldn't very well plaster her room with Wizarding photographs, after all, so there was no reason for him to expect—

Severus' breath caught as he stopped his inspection. There, on Lily's bedside table, was a framed, Muggle photograph of an 11-year-old Severus and Lily, standing together at the entrance to Diagon Alley.

James Potter simply didn't have a _chance_.

Severus rapped his knuckles lightly on the doorframe, and Lily looked up on response, her expression immediately brightening into a smile. "Sev!" she said, tossing the journal onto the floor next to a discarded pair of socks and bounding off the bed to greet him with an embrace.

"I missed you," she breathed into his collarbone, her body pressed tightly against his. Severus prepared himself to say something eloquent and charming in response—"Er, ah" came to mind—when Lily withdrew slightly and, her hands still on his hips, smiled and said, "What's all this, then?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "To what are you referring?"

"Well," Lily said, "I _was_ referring to the bag, since I suspect it's got a present in it, but come to think of it I do like your new coat, even if it is…moist." She withdrew her hands and, wrinkling her nose, looked down at her now-damp jumper and skirt.

Severus wished, again, that he could cast a Drying Charm without activating the Trace on Lily's neighbourhood. "I'm terribly sorry," he said.

Lily shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Just take it off, yeah? You can put it on the chair." She sat back on the edge of her bed and, as Severus removed his coat, asked, "When did you buy a Muggle coat?"

Severus smirked and replied, "I didn't. It's Transfigured." He hung the aforementioned garment on the back of Lily's desk chair.

"Impressive," Lily said appreciatively. "Did you do the jumper and the trousers too?"

Severus looked down at the garments in question and, eyebrow raised, looked back at Lily. "Although I believe that to be within my capabilities, you do realise the ease with which I may enter Muggle London, yes?"

Lily pressed her lips together for a moment before replying, "So that's a no?"

Severus crossed his arms over his chest. "Did I select poorly?" he demanded.

"No," Lily said immediately. "No. They're lovely." Her lips quirked, and she added, "Though I should probably point out that black isn't the most _festive _colour."

Severus looked down at Lily, who smiled disarmingly back up at him. He looked at the bed next to her. He looked back at her young face.

"I do hope you aren't disappointed," he said, handing her the brown paper sack he'd spent the last several hours transporting from London, and then he sat down in her desk chair.

Lily hesitated only a moment before smiling, reaching into the bag, and pulling out the carefully-wrapped bottle within. Her nimble fingers made short work of the paper, and she was soon holding the amber glass, atomiser-topped bottle he'd procured from an overly-crowded and dusty Diagon Alley shop. She held it up to the light and gave the liquid within a swirl.

"It's…thin," she mused aloud, "possibly—is that—no." She swirled it again. "And yet it's meant to be diffused, so…" She glanced back at him, pursed her lips, and warned, "This had _better_ not be Sluggy's 'recreational potion.'"

Severus smirked. "Please."

Lily warily returned her gaze to the bottle, which she experimentally tilted back and forth. "We haven't studied many behavioural potions, so I can't rule most of them out…"

Severus, who was of course not the slightest bit nervous as to how Lily would receive his gift, said, "Do you give up?"

Lily glared at him in mock-offense. "Certainly not," she said. "It's—is it a variation on a Calming Draught, meant to keep me from strangling my terrible sister?"

Severus shook his head, reached over, and squeezed the atomiser's bulb.

Lily sat in silence for a moment. "Is it…" she said at last, "a…?"

Severus, who was not Occluding away a flush, explained, "It's an, ah, _eau de parfum_."

"A perfume?" Lily repeated—and then she laughed.

Affronted, Severus moved to retrieve his spurned gift, but Lily quickly pulled it out of his reach. "I'm sorry," she said, "it's—it's lovely. I love it. I was just surprised. I was expecting some kind of—impressive Potions—thing, but this is—" She sniffed the air and asked, "That's not—it's not lilies."

Severus scoffed. "Overdone, I'm sure," he said. "The scent blend is, primarily, honeysuckle and vanilla."

Lily's eyes brightened. "Honeysuckle," she said. "Like…"

"In the park," Severus supplied inanely. Lily smiled at him.

"I love it," she said. "And now I feel stupid, because here you've gone and made me such a lovely—I mean, I _love_ it, Sev—and—well." She gestured helplessly at a wrapped rectangular object sitting on her desk, which Severus took in hand and deftly unwrapped. It was a plain, black Scrivenshaft's notebook, unlined.

He looked back at Lily, who appeared flustered as she said, "I know, I know. Wait." She slid down off the bed to sit on the floor, where she extracted a Muggle pen and an identical black notebook from underneath the Charms revue. "Open yours," she instructed him, "and look at the first page."

Severus obeyed. The notebook's pages were cream-coloured, smooth, and utterly blank—

—until Lily's familiar round writing suddenly appeared: _Happy Christmas_.

Severus looked up from the page; Lily was smiling up at him from the floor, where she had, clearly, just written the greeting in her own notebook. "It's no perfume," she said, "but I thought it would be nice to communicate, you know, more immediately—" She waved her hand vaguely in a direction that Severus understood to be meant towards Scotland when she continued, "—while I'm at school." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and asked, charmingly, "What do you think?"

Severus closed the journal. "It's really quite impressive," he said, examining the notebook. "To combine charm work and Transfiguration in this way—and this modification of a Protean Charm is very well executed; I don't know that I've seen it used in this way before." He opened the journal, flipped through the pages, and added, "Truly, it's very well done." He glanced up at Lily, who, oddly, was looking up at him with evident mirth in her eyes. Severus frowned. "Yes?" he asked.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, laughing. Severus blinked, and Lily laughed again. "I'm sorry," she said, "you just sound so very like a Hogwarts professor—or maybe an OWL administrator—but in a good way! Really."

"I was attempting to compliment your excellent spellwork," Severus said wryly.

"I know, I know," Lily said. "And I'm flattered. Really."

Severus raised an eyebrow at her. She gazed up at him, an amused half-smile on her face.

Severus felt his face heat.

Lily, wonderfully, bit her lower lip and shifted so that she was kneeling, resting on the balls of her feet—Severus, sitting a mere foot away, shifted in his chair—the door to Lily's bedroom opened—

Severus, whose heart was absolutely not racing, caught his breath and looked up at Lily's father, the face—so to speak—of innocence. "Hello, Mr Evans," he said.

Mr Evans was, as Severus had remembered, a slightly paunchy man with light brown, greying hair. He glanced back and forth between Lily and Severus and, at last, said, "Severus. I haven't seen you in a while."

Lily, now sitting firmly on the floor, blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. "He's left school, Dad," she said.

"Right, right," Mr Evans said, again looking back and forth between the two of them. "Well." He gave them a tight-lipped smile. "Your mum's almost done with dinner," he said, "so…come down soon." He smiled and, pointedly, left the door wide open.

Lily rolled her eyes. "I guess we've got to go down and join Petunia and the dreaded Vernon."

Severus swallowed once more and calmly asked, "You're not fond of him, I take it?"

"He's just a dreadful stuck-up _bore_ is all," Lily said breezily. "And it's ridiculous that he's even here. I mean, they've only known each other for four months, I don't know what possessed Tuney to ask him for Christmas. It's pretty obvious that she only invited him when Mum told her you were coming."

"The possibility of an odd number of diners alarmed her?" Severus asked mildly.

Lily rolled her eyes. "She's jealous, of course."

"Of…" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Surely not because of _me_."

"Oh, because you're so _horrible_," Lily said, throwing one of the errant floor socks at him. He caught it. After a brief negotiation—in which Lily was returned her sock and Severus was given a rather tactile demonstration of her gratitude—Lily donned her shoes and the two of them headed downstairs, Lily's hand resting charmingly in the crook of his elbow.

When Mrs Evans called out from the kitchen, "Lily, dear, you can go ahead and join Vernon at the table, we're almost ready," and Severus found his elbow unpleasantly squeezed—and himself forcibly steered into the dining room—he was suddenly unsure if he was there as escort, as support, or as sacrifice. Regardless, he fulfilled Lily's obvious wish that he take the seat opposite the "dreaded Vernon," who turned out to be a thickset young Muggle with a ruddy face and an unpleasant moustache. "Vernon Dursley," he said, shaking Severus' hand

Severus' face remained neutral as he took a closer look at the man who, in another time, had become the guardian of Lily's son. Having never bothered to acquaint himself with Dursley's first name, he hadn't before realised that the "dreaded Vernon" was, in fact, Petunia's future husband. As Lily had described, Dursley was a dreadful bore; a passing glance at the uppermost contents of his small mind revealed him to be the very sort of mundane Muggle that Lucius and his ilk had always railed against. His lack of regard for the boy himself notwithstanding, Severus felt an inkling of disgust that _this_ man had been trusted with the wellbeing of any Wizarding child, let alone—

"Severus Snape," he said, taking his seat and nodding at the man who, in fact, would never be given trust over a Wizarding child who didn't exist.

Lily took that moment to disappear into the kitchen under the guise of "helping," leaving Severus alone with her sister's unimpressive beau. Dursley drummed his thick fingers on the cream-coloured tablecloth and said, "So. You're in school with Pet's sister, is that right?"

Severus elected to keep his face a safe, Occluded neutral at the mention of "Pet," and simply replied, "I was, yes."

"Lucky break for you, I take it?" Dursley said.

"I beg your pardon?" Severus replied.

"Well," Dursley said, leaning back in his chair, "the scholarship, and all. Pet told me, ah, you didn't grow up on this side of town so to speak, so. I figured."

Severus blinked.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with that," Dursley continued. "I went to Smeltings, myself, but not everyone has the background for an exclusive public school like her. Lucky you had the marks for, ah, Saint Whatsits, yeah?"

Before Severus could respond to this unique series of assumptions, Mr Evans entered the dining room with a bottle of wine, which he poured into the glasses of four of the six place settings, Severus' and Lily's, of course, not included. Mr Evans took his seat at the head of the table, smiled, and said, "So, you boys getting to know each other?"

Dursley chuckled and replied, "Well, it's been some time since I was in school like young Sylvester here."

Lily, who had been entering the room with some sort of casserole, evidently heard the end of Dursley's proclamation, as she then snorted, set the dish heavily on the table, said, "Excuse me," and proceeded to hurry back into the kitchen, from whence the unmistakable sound of laughter shortly emanated.

"Kids, eh?" Dursley, who was at most 25, said conspiratorially to Mr Evans. Severus silently cursed the various laws and statutes preventing him from Transfiguring his water into whiskey.

Fortunately, the Evans women shortly finished transporting various steaming dishes into the dining room and took their seats; Lily sat to Severus' left, across from her sister, and Mrs Evans sat at the foot of the table to Severus' right. After a brief blessing—upon which Petunia insisted and about which no one else seemed to care—the Evans family (and guests) commenced please-passing the sundry dishes (which, upon tasting, revealed themselves to be somewhat better than his own essentials-only cooking, if nowhere near the level of the Hogwarts elves').

"Do you like the Brussels sprouts?" Petunia asked Dursley. "I made those."

The Brussels sprouts were, in fact, boiled beyond belief. "Sure, for vegetables they're all right," Dursley replied as he dug into a sausage.

"Dinner is delicious, Mrs Evans," Severus said obligingly.

"Oh," Mrs Evans said, waving a hand, "it wasn't nearly all my doing. I couldn't have done it without help."

"Yes," Petunia said, looking pointedly across the table at Lily, "_I_ was happy to help, Mum."

Lily, clearly annoyed, narrowed her eyes and said, "I hope you haven't forgotten about the fruit salad I got up to make this morning, _Tuney_."

A flash of a scowl appeared on Petunia's face before she smiled and said, saccharinely, "I'm sorry, Lils, I guess I forgot about your fruit salad while I was making the pudding _last month_."

"How does that even make sense?" Lily exclaimed.

Mrs Evans cleared her throat loudly before Petunia could retort and said, "What time is your, ah, train back to London, Severus?"

"At eight," Severus replied. "I should probably leave to catch the bus by six-thirty or so."

"Nonsense, dear," Mrs Evans said. "We've already agreed that Harold will drive you back to the train station. I simply don't trust that bus at night, and on a holiday to boot."

"Thought you lived around here," Dursley said to Severus.

"Severus is at university," Mrs Evans supplied.

Dursley's piggy eyes narrowed almost perceptibly. "Bit young for it, aren't you?"

"I think it's impressive," Lily said, laying a hand on Severus' forearm.

"I thought he worked in a shop," Petunia said snidely.

"Really, Petunia?" Severus said mildly. "Please, share with us the type of shop in which you believe me to work."

Mrs Evans, who had been in the midst of sipping her wine, sputtered ever so elegantly into her glass. Lily's fingers dug into Severus' knee, and Dursley's eyes flicked back and forth between Severus and Petunia, who, eventually, bit out, "A chemist's."

"Well," Dursley said, chortling into the silence, "there's nothing wrong with honest labour. I know I couldn't do my job without the boys on the floor."

Petunia simpered and interjected, "Vernon has been offered a _management_ position at Grunnings' new plant in _Surrey_."

"Really?" Mr Evans said. "Congratulations, Vern."

Dursley waved a thick hand in false modesty and said, "Thanks, Harold, but, it's not official just yet—the new plant is still under construction, after all, but I've been told by some pretty V. I. P.s that I'm at the top of the list for upper management candidates."

"When would you start?" Mrs Evans asked politely.

"They're shooting to open up next summer, so they'll probably start me with management training come fall," Dursley said, "conferences and workshops and so forth."

Petunia crossed her arms and, inexplicably, smirked at Lily.

"That's very nice," Lily said charitably. "Of course, Severus isn't going to be at the shop forever. He's just working his way through university. Did I mention he finished school two years early, and set the national record for the A-level exam in chemistry?"

"Lily," Mrs Evans said warningly.

"What?" Lily said. "I thought we were sharing our boyfriends' accomplishments."

Mr Evans set his fork down with a _clank_. "Boyfriends?" he repeated.

"Yes?" Lily said, blinking.

"Tell me more about the new plant, Vernon," Mrs Evans said hurriedly.

"Well, it'll be twice the size of the Kent plant," said the oblivious Dursley, "and while someone else might feel intimidated, I'm confident that I'll be able to handle it."

"I'd like to speak with you after dinner," Mr Evans said quietly.

"Why?" Lily said. "What's—what's the matter?

"I'm sure you will," Mrs Evans said.

"Naturally," Petunia added. "He's been in a supervisory position for several months now and he's been simply brilliant at it."

"_Later_, young lady," Mr Evans insisted.

"I wouldn't go so far as all that," Dursley said, "although that _is_ what the big bosses have implied, yes."

"Don't be so modest," Petunia said. "It's perfectly all right to talk about perfectly creditable achievements like _yours_, darling."

Severus glanced to his left, where Lily was glaring wordlessly at her sister. Beyond Lily, Mr Evans was looking back at Severus with an unusual expression that Severus had most recently seen on Jigger's face as the potions master regarded a potentially rancid delivery of dead mice—gauging, but not (yet) disgusted.

Severus, who enjoyed neither insipid Muggle braggarts nor feeling like a batch of mouse corpses, stood up. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I believe I'm still suffering from a spot of motion sickness from the bus. I need to get some air."

There was a moment of silence, and then Lily said, "I'll show you outside," and practically dragged him through the kitchen and out the back door into the garden.

The door slammed behind them without physical assistance, leaving Severus to hope that Lily's unintentional Banishing Charm wasn't picked up by her Trace. Lily stalked nigh on halfway across the Evans' yard—apparently uncaring of the weather, despite wearing only a jumper against the drizzle and chill—before she stopped, turned around, and said, "Vernon is an—is an _arse_, and Petunia's a _bitch_, and I don't blame you if you want to leave right now."

"You may be in more danger of that than I," Severus replied, amused.

Lily, obviously frustrated, pulled at the end of her hair. "She's just so _obnoxious_. She's supposed to be the adult, but she keeps on saying these _insulting_ things, and she knows I can't properly respond because of stupid bloody Vernon—"

"He truly is," Severus interrupted. Lily fell silent, question in her eyes, so Severus clarified, "Stupid, that is. I've never met a duller person in my life."

Lily's expression changed into one of absolute amusement and she began to laugh. "Thank you," she said. "It—it's really incredible, isn't it? She really found the single most boring person in the world."

"Beyond description," Severus affirmed, and Lily erupted into lovely peals of laughter once more. After a moment, she drew several long breaths, appeared to steel herself, and said, "All right. Thank you—I needed that." She nodded. "Let's go back inside. I'll behave, and I won't let it get to me, and I won't provoke the Dreaded Vernon _or_ Petunia."

Severus nodded and reasonably added, "Or your father."

Lily, who had been about to head back into the house, turned around to peer at him. "What about him?"

_Blast_. "Just—I wouldn't again bring up my relationship to you," he said.

Lily, surprisingly, laughed. "Wasn't that strange?" she said. "I thought I'd been clear enough in my letters, and when I asked if you could come to dinner, but I guess I should've spelled it out for him."

"It probably wouldn't have gone any better," Severus remarked.

Lily frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's clearly…uncomfortable with our relationship," Severus replied cautiously.

"What?" Lily said. "No. My parents always been fine with our friendship."

"Exactly," Severus said. "They surely have no problem with our being merely _friends_." Seeing the confusion in Lily's eyes, Severus clarified, "I don't believe either of your parents previously considered me as a potential…boyfriend."

"What, because you're a—a wizard?" Lily asked, lowering her voice slightly. "That's ridiculous. Why wouldn't I have a wizarding boyfriend?"

Severus, who had never been one to _purposefully_ bring up his own background—the Pureblood Slytherins and _autre_-day Death Eaters had done so rather enough—shook his head. "I'm speaking of a rather more mundane objection," he said.

"My parents don't _object_ to you," Lily said, grinning as though Severus were being quite ridiculous. "Mum used to _encourage_ me to bring you around, especially during the summers. How many times did she tell me to bring you for dinner?"

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses and, eyes closed, finally explicated, "An upstanding businessman might encourage his daughter to befriend the boy from the 'wrong side of the tracks,' as it were, but approving his advance into her—" He thought better of his line of reasoning. "—into a romantic dalliance with her is another matter entirely."

He opened his eyes. Lily was looking at him as though he'd sprouted Hippogriff wings.

"Daddy's not a _snob_," she said at last.

"I'm sure he's not consciously choosing to disapprove of me based on…my upbringing," Severus said, "but I very strongly suspect that the 'talk' he wishes to have with you after my departure is to discourage you from spending further time with me."

Lily shook her head. "He wouldn't," she said. "I'm sure he's just ticked that I've been goading Tuney. I'll knock it off and nothing will come of it."

Severus, who had not Lily's optimism, replied, "Very well—but if the subject should arise at a later date, don't be surprised if he thinks rather more highly of Dursley the Future Plant Manager than of me."

Lily's lip curled. "Daddy has better taste than _that_, I hope," she said.

"Let's both," Severus replied. Lily smiled and took a deep breath; Severus followed her back into the house for mediocre food, forced conversation, and the grating ebullience of crackers.

* * *

Severus, who had been in the midst of scribbling notes in the margins of the alchemical paper Jigger had procured for him to read—old habits, as it were, refusing to die—glanced up sharply at the alarming noise emanating from the vicinity of his small bed.

With relief—and a dash of chagrin—Severus realised the source of the chirping; it was the small book Lily had given him for Christmas. Leaning over, Severus retrieved the item from and opened it on his desk. Where before it had been blank, the book now read:

_Hey, so, you don't have to go if you don't want to, but since my parents are going to some swank party for New Year's—and Tuney's going off with the Dreaded Vernon—I was thinking about going with Marlene to the Hobgoblin show in Manchester. Marlene says it would be fine if you came so I thought we could make a group of it?_

Severus blinked. More words formed on the page.

_I mean, you really don't have to. And maybe you have plans. It's okay if you have plans._

Severus scoffed, grabbed up his quill, and scrawled:

_Of course I don't have plans. It would be my pleasure to escort you to this Hobgoblin show._

He watched, feeling rather foolish, as Lily's rounded handwriting quickly reappeared.

_I'm so glad! I was hoping you could. It wouldn't be the same, counting down to midnight without you._

Severus smiled, which was inane, and scrawled:

_I felt rather the same_.

…which was, if possible, even worse. He slammed the book closed and tossed it back on the bed, resuming his labour and ignoring the warm feeling in his cheeks.

* * *

By the time Severus finished in the laboratory, went upstairs to wash the potions residue off his skin, and finally caught the (late, _again_) Portkey into the same (disgusting) disused lavatory in Piccadilly Gardens, it was becoming rather late in the evening. Fortunately, as Lily had repeatedly reassured him, the concert—or "show," as she was wont to call it—would be running quite late in the evening, due to its being on the occasion of New Year's Eve. Severus exited the unpleasant lavatory, thought fondly of his upcoming birthday and its accompanying Apparition license, and headed north.

He threaded his way through throngs of merry-makers in the narrow streets—many of whom were dressed in a style that he vaguely recognised as early punk, a trend he had been indistinctly aware of as a teen in a "filthy Muggle excuse for 'culture' that, like all its ilk, must be obliterated" sort of way—until he reached his destination, which turned out to be a door guarded by a large man who glanced at him, snorted, and said, "Don't try to order anything at the bar, kid," before he collected Severus' five pounds and allowed him to enter.

Severus stepped into a crowded and extremely loud, smoke-filled room, with a bar at one end and a stage at another. A motley assortment of musicians onstage were filling the room with music that seemed to be in a predominantly Muggle style, with only the occasional discordant chime of a triangle giving it the air of whimsy-at-all-costs so often found in Wizarding music.

Looking around, he saw that the crowd also reflected what Lily had meant by "it's a mixed venue, so wear Muggle clothes"; although the majority of the young people in attendance were most likely Muggles, Severus vaguely recognised more than a few faces from Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. This type of gathering had seen a brief heyday in the mid- to late-70s—until, of course, they had become easy targets for followers and sympathisers of the Dark Lord. Severus estimated there to be a matter of months before "mixed crowds" fell out of favour, but for the time being—

"Severus!" Lily's unmistakable voice cut through the noise. Severus turned to see Lily, accompanied by her friend McKinnon, making her way towards him. Lily greeted him with a brief kiss and, as McKinnon rolled her eyes, said something to the effect of, "You've not good rhyming. The Hoproplins rest slarded their wet."

Severus stared at her. "What?"

Lily laughed and leaned up, so that she could shout into his ear. "I said, you've got good timing—the Hobgoblins just started their set."

"Excellent," Severus said to this completely befuddling pronouncement. He glanced at Lily's friend and, pitching his voice to a volume rather greater than usual, added, "Miss McKinnon, Happy New Year."

McKinnon sipped her beer—evidently, she either was eighteen or passed for it much better than Severus did—and said, "Cheers, Snape."

"How was work?" Lily asked in his ear.

Severus raised an eyebrow and, with a jerk of his head toward their Muggle surroundings, said, "At the chemical lab?"

McKinnon snorted into her beer, and Lily pressed a hand to her cheek, clearly chagrined. "Yes," she said, rolling her eyes, "at the chemical lab."

"It was fine." Severus shrugged. "Now that we've submitted our completed research to the…journal, Jigger has insisted that I resume preparing for the…exams. It's tedious, but not entirely objectionable."

Lily smiled. "I don't know why you feel like you have to rush through everything, anyway," she said. "You're already so well ahead of the typical schedule."

"Hmm," McKinnon put in loudly. "Yeah. I need another beer." She drained the last quarter-inch of liquid from her glass and headed off towards the bar; Lily, for some reason, followed, leaving Severus to trail along in her wake. As McKinnon squeezed between two leather-clad gentlemen in order to flag down the bartender, Severus noticed an especially familiar-looking face walking away from the bar. Due to the incongruous setting, he was just putting that face together with a set of uniform shop robes when—

"Hullo, Snape," Cadogan said with a smile as she walked toward him, a drink in her hand and her husband in tow.

"What are you doing here?" Severus asked Cadogan, forcing the volume of his voice above the din.

"It's nice to see you, too," Cadogan replied. "Hello, Lily. I'm impressed—you managed to get him out of the laboratory."

Lily laughed; Severus glowered. "Oh, it wasn't that hard," Lily said. "It's nice to see you, Sheridan." She glanced at Cadogan's husband and smiled tentatively.

"Oh," Cadogan said, "this is my husband, Gordon. Gordon, this is Snape's, ah—"

"Redheaded lady friend," Graves supplied easily, as Cadogan sputtered into her drink and Lily, fortunately, let out a single bark of laughter.

"I'm Lily," she said to Graves, "though 'redheaded lady friend' seems to work as well."

"It's nice to meet you, Lily," Graves said, nodding. "I understand you're still in school, is that right?"

Severus glanced pointedly at Cadogan, who made a show of innocently sipping her beer. "Yes," Lily said, "sixth-year, like Severus would still be if he weren't such a genius. What do you do?"

"I'm a musician," Graves replied.

"What, like…?" Lily indicated the band on stage.

Gordon chuckled. "Nothing so exciting," he said. "We're only here because Sherry knows one of the lads in the band."

"Really?" Lily said, turning to Cadogan. "Which one?"

"See the drummer?" Cadogan pointed out the youngest musician onstage, a weedy man with a partially-shaved head. "He was a Ravenclaw, a few years above me. I wanted to see him play before the Goblins get so big that I can't afford to see them anymore."

"I have to say," Graves mused, "that this is _not_ how I pictured your music."

"Don't blame me for…this," Cadogan said, gesturing toward the stage. "I've no idea what they're thinking with that triangle."

McKinnon manoeuvred through the crowd surrounding the bar, beer finally in hand, and rejoined the group. "That took for bloody ever," she said. "Let's try for a spot up front, yeah?"

"Sure." Lily smiled apologetically at Cadogan and her husband. "It was good seeing you, Sheridan, and nice to meet you, Gordon."

"Yeah, nice to meet you," McKinnon echoed, even though she hadn't. Severus exchanged pleasantries with his employee and her husband, and then he and Lily followed the impatient McKinnon through the beer-scented, smoky throng until they reached a slightly less-crowded section of the floor (it was less crowded, Severus shortly discovered, because it was directly in front of an enormously loud speaker; McKinnon didn't seem to care).

The music continued; it wasn't necessarily what Severus would seek out of his own accord, but with the exception of the much-abused triangle, it wasn't especially unpleasant (just obscenely loud). When Lily prodded him, he joined the others in the crowd in the rhythmic, head-bobbing quasi-dance, which felt ridiculous but not nearly as ridiculous as standing stock-still in the middle of a moving crowd.

The subsequent hour passed quickly; McKinnon, like those around her, went back to the bar a time or two more (leading Lily to inform her that under no circumstances would she be Apparating back to London that evening), and between the smoke from cigarettes (and other substances), the smell of spirits, and the pounding music, Severus felt quite as though he'd been transported to another universe entirely—and, amazingly, this universe included Lily Evans, who spent the bulk of the evening pressed up against his side, one arm wrapped around his waist.

As midnight drew near, the band's front man set his mandolin aside in order to lead the audience in "counting down to bloody nineteen seventy fucking seven, yeah!" The crowd cheered inebriatedly and proceeded to join him: "Ten…nine..."

Severus looked down at Lily. Her green eyes still managed to shine in the dim lighting as she looked back at him, taking his hands in hers. The din of a hundred drunken young people crashed in his ears as the multitude chanted: "Five…four…three…"

Lily's lips formed the words. "Two…one…"

And then, just as the revellers turned to toast one another's good luck and good fortune—and Lily leaned up to kiss Severus—he stumbled, knocked to his knees, as an explosion rocked the club.

Cheers turned to screams, and black smoke filled the room.

* * *

**A/N**: Happy 1977, everybody! Er. In any case, thank you so much for your reviews, which are gratifying, helpful, and inspiring.

Coming up: An exploded club, and the birthdays I promised previously.


	19. January 1977

**Chapter 18  
****January, 1977**

Statute of Secrecy and Restriction of Underaged Wizardry notwithstanding, Severus immediately flipped his wand into his hand and jumped back to his feet. The club had, naturally, been thrust into chaos; the black smoke was rapidly spreading from its apparent origin near the bar, and the hundred-plus members of the audience had started to press, tripping over one another, towards the single obvious exit.

Lily had also stumbled; he lifted her upright by the shoulders and, after glancing at her body and probing the uppermost level of her mind—it was an _emergency_—determined that she was unhurt, if frightened. McKinnon, being inebriated, seemed to have lost her balance enough to have fallen directly onto the floor and was bruised, but otherwise uninjured. Severus grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet; he pulled the two witches out of the path of the stampeding crowd and into the shelter of the enormous speaker.

Screams rang out anew as those still inside the club realised that the bar was, in fact, on fire. Given the amount of alcohol—

They needed to leave _immediately_.

"Shit," McKinnon was saying, "shit, shit, shit…"

"How do we get out of here?" Lily asked. "Marlene. Marlene. Can you Apparate us?"

Severus sharply gestured for them to be silent. "I wish neither to be splinched nor to be party to a grave violation of the Statute," he snapped. "We aren't invisible." He took in the room, from the crowd funnelling poorly out of the exit to the spreading fire to the empty stage—

"The stage is empty," Severus said aloud. "The musicians escaped. There's a back exit." He ran around their speaker-shelter, jumped up onto the stage, and held out a hand to help Lily up. She joined him; McKinnon, who was sufficiently tall, declined his offer of assistance and leapt up wobbily beside him. He headed for the back of the stage and paced the width of it until the absence of smoke alerted him to what did, in fact, turn out to be an exit, lurking behind a curtain; the band had left the door open. With one last glance behind him to be sure that he was being followed only by Lily and McKinnon, he ducked behind the curtain, out the door, and into a narrow back street.

A second explosion echoed from within the building. Severus grabbed Lily by the hand and took off at a run. When they had put enough distance between themselves and the burning club—or so Severus hoped—they turned off the street and into a small alley. He indicated for Lily and McKinnon—who seemed rather likely to vomit—to sit down on the kerb and stood peering back towards the street.

"If," McKinnon said, panting, "you'd hit me with—a Sobering Charm—we could've Apparated the hell out of there."

"A Sobering Charm would immediately have rendered you dehydrated and in a not negligible amount of pain. Apparition still would have been ill-advised," Severus remarked, his attention remaining on the direction of the bar. No one had followed them; the alley was deserted.

"You could've given me a hangover remedy," McKinnon said sullenly.

"I don't carry a laboratory _on my bloody person_," Severus spat. "And I would have been an underaged wizard in a room full of Muggles regardless."

At that, Lily gripped Severus' ankle tightly. He glanced down; her eyes were wide. "Muggles," she said. "Sheridan's husband. They were standing by the bar before the explosion."

Severus felt, suddenly, simultaneously very tired and extremely irritated with bloody stupid Cadogan and her stupid Muggle husband. "Damn," he said aloud. There was nothing for it; he'd have to make sure his inept employee had escaped, with or without her tolerable husband, or else be forced to find a replacement shopkeeper.

"Wait here," he instructed Lily. "If I do not return within twenty minutes, cast the Sobering Charm on Miss McKinnon and have her Apparate you home."

"Like hell," Lily retorted. "I'm not leaving, and frankly I think I should go with you." McKinnon's head snapped up, "Gryffindor Ready for a Fight" practically written on her face.

"Certainly _not_," Severus said emphatically. "Stay here with Miss McKinnon and keep her from drunkenly wounding herself. Miss Cadogan is my responsibility." Seeing the stubborn set of Lily's jaw, he knelt and quietly added, "If I run into trouble, I'll Disapparate—Statute and Restriction be damned."

Lily, though frowning, nodded. Severus pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, stood, and set off at a jog back towards the bar.

The explosion had several possible explanations; it was either an accident, or a planned attack. If it was an accident, it could have been fireworks set off in a misguided, drunken attempt at celebration, or it could have been an electrical malfunction or any number of other Muggle mishaps. If it was an attack, it could very well have been Irish separatists or violent misanthropes who opposed the use of the triangle in modern music.

But Severus was fairly certain it was, in fact, a blood purist attack.

When he heard footsteps, dove behind an alley bin, and watched Evan Rosier run up the street in the opposite direction from the club, he was rather certain.

Unfortunately, the relief Severus had felt at having warning enough to conceal himself _before_ he'd reached the crossroads—which would have put him right in his former classmate's path—soon turned to dread when Rosier came to a stop and was shortly joined by Martinius Wilkes. Rosier looked triumphant; Wilkes, annoyed.

"Cast it," Rosier said, breathing heavily.

"Cast _what_?" Wilkes replied coldly.

"His Mark," Rosier replied. "I checked, like you said—at least two Muggles died for sure. So we should—"

"Don't be stupid," Wilkes interrupted. "Do you really think He wants to be credited for a half-assed explosion? For the deaths of a few worthless Muggles?"

Rosier's expression quickly turned to a scowl. "You _said_ this would help me—"

"And it will," Wilkes said smoothly. "He will doubtlessly be pleased that you've taken the initiative to teach these blood-traitors a lesson. That does _not_ mean He meant for _your_ sorry excuse for an attack to be the public debut of His glorious Mark."

"Then who—"

"Someone who will have followed the Dark Lord's orders and killed a prominent Mudblood or blood-traitor, I'm sure," Wilkes said. "Your little plot was enough to show Him your dedication. Leave it at that, Rosier, and remember your place."

Rosier muttered something Severus couldn't quite make out, at which Wilkes snorted. "Chin up, Rosier. Maybe a Mudblood died, too."

Rosier smiled wryly and nodded. Wilkes rotated his index finger counter-clockwise and, in accordance with the signal, they both Disapparated.

Severus waited a full minute on the chance they should reappear, and then he set off once more toward the bar, darkly amused by the fact that although Wilkes and Rosier had bothered to use the hand signals he remembered from his own time as a Death Eater, they apparently couldn't be bothered to _not to use each other's names_. Marty Wilkes, especially, should have known better.

Had this happened originally? Had Lily attended a concert in Manchester that Rosier, in an effort to impress the Dark Lord, had targeted with an explosion?

Rosier had been rather full of himself when he'd returned from Christmas hols that year, dropping dark hints about the Dark Lord and saying what a _pity_ it was that Severus wasn't yet of age. It was not at all unlikely that he had, in fact, had a hand in wreaking havoc on a mixed Magic and Muggle gathering that night.

But had Lily...? If she had, how had she and the drunken McKinnon escaped unscathed?

Maybe it was Severus' presence that had inspired McKinnon to start drinking, and when it had been only McKinnon and Lily present, she had been sober enough to safely Apparate them both to safety.

Or maybe Lily hadn't spent New Year's with McKinnon at all, and had instead rung in 1977 with her best friend, Mary Macdonald, who would not have been driven away by a choice and a boyfriend that Lily had never made and never had.

Severus chose not to consider any messy-haired, Pureblooded possibilities, as they, too, had been stricken from his current timeline.

He soon arrived at the stage door, which someone—presumably Rosier—had closed, most likely as he exited. Severus paused; Rosier surely couldn't be so clueless as to fail to lock—

The door's handle turned. Severus opened the door and slipped inside.

He could barely believe Rosier had ever been so ineffective at killing Muggles.

Severus made his way out from behind the curtains and did his best to survey the club. The smoke had gotten thicker, but the crowd had thinned somewhat; the small crush of people still attempting to exit through the front door was no longer a desperate trampling of humanity. There were still screams, though, and more than one instance of hysterical sobbing, as a smattering of the injured and—as Rosier had claimed—dead littered the floor, and the bar was still dangerously aflame. As Severus looked around, sirens and flashing lights began to arrive outside of the club. He had no doubt that Ministry officials—the DMLE, and a few Obliviators for good measure—wouldn't be far behind, and the allegiance of those wizards was anyone's guess.

He must be hasty.

The club was dark, and full of smoke, and he had no idea if Cadogan and her Muggle husband were inside. He closed his eyes and, fighting the temptation to inhale deeply in order to steady his breath, recalled the woman he'd worked next to for nigh on six months, whose mind he had looked into on more than one occasion—

She was still inside the club.

He opened his eyes. There, in the far corner—fortunately out of the path of the flames and, hopefully, the arriving rescue crews—was Cadogan, white-faced and shaking, kneeling next to her husband's prone form.

Severus' heart sank and rose in turn, as he realised that Cadogan was extremely frightened, but not desolate—and that Graves was, in fact, holding her hand and speaking.

Severus put aside the irrational desire to strike the man for appearing dead, however briefly, and instead crossed the room to join Cadogan at his side.

"Snape!" Cadogan exclaimed breathlessly when he reached her. "You—the explosion, were you? Are you? Is what's—Lily, is she—I guess she is—how do you get out of here? Can you help us?"

"Calm _down_," Severus said. "I can't help you if you can't tell me why you are _still in this room_."

"Right," Cadogan said, shaking her head. "Sorry. It's Gordon. He was thrown by the first explosion, and the second knocked a barrel onto him. I got the barrel off and—and I don't think anyone _saw_, but I think his leg is broken and—and you know me with healing." She fell silent, her hands still visibly trembling.

"And to think we _left_ Ulster," Graves said, his habitual good-natured smile rather marred by his clear expression of pain.

"I can't heal a broken limb," Severus said. "I certainly can't here and now. Can you walk?"

Graves shifted slightly and, alarmingly, seemed to choke back vomit. "I don't think I can properly stand," he said, "but needs must. Lend me a hand." Unbelievably, he reached up to Severus and prepared to rise.

Severus turned from the crazy Muggle to his wife. "Apparate him to St. Mungo's," he instructed.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Cadogan retorted. "He'll go to—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "—Muggle hospital if he goes at all. I'll not have him around any more blood purist terrorists."

"Cast a Featherweight, then," Severus snapped. "We have to leave _now_."

Severus blocked her from view; Cadogan drew a deep breath and cast the charm on her husband. On Severus' direction, she immobilised his leg; Severus muttered a quick apology and picked him up, swung him over his shoulder, and headed once more for the back exit, Cadogan following closely behind. They crossed the stage, ducked behind the curtain, and exited to the back street.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Cadogan asked, jogging alongside him. "It was blood purists?"

"Yes," Severus said shortly. "I believe so."

"How do you think—"

"This is not," Severus said, "the place to discuss it, madam."

"Right," Cadogan said. "Of course."

They travelled in silence all the way down the street and into the alley. As he drew near the spot where he had left Lily and McKinnon, he was gratified to see that they were still there, though McKinnon seemed to have fallen asleep with her head in Lily's lap.

"Oh my God," Lily said as Severus reached her. "Is he—"

"He's fine," Severus said."His leg is broken."

"It's better now it's not moving," Cadogan's husband added. "Though I must admit this isn't my favourite way to be transported."

McKinnon, without seeming to wake, blearily commented, "I don't think Snape is strong enough to be doing that."

"Yes, thank you," Severus replied. "Madam, I believe we're far enough away from prying eyes for you to take your husband to hospital."

Cadogan nodded and Severus, no longer needing to create the impression of carrying a body rather heavier than his own, manoeuvred Graves' lightened body into a cradled position in Cadogan's outstretched arms.

By the bemused look on her face, Severus gathered she'd never carried a Featherweight person before. Hopefully, she'd not need to again.

"You're fine to Apparate?" Severus verified.

"Yes," Cadogan said, "but I don't know any hospital well enough to—"

"You keep a Muggle residence?" Severus asked. When Cadogan nodded, he continued, "Might I suggest returning home and contacting an ambulance from there? Perhaps your husband was attempting to move a bookshelf, and it fell on him. You will, of course, want to spell away the smell of smoke."

"I'm sure you're right," replied Cadogan, who was, after all, a reasonably intelligent human being. "I will." She swallowed. "I—I can't say enough—"

"Then don't," Severus replied flatly. "Take your husband home, madam."

Cadogan took a deep breath and nodded. "Hold on, Gordon."

Her husband, wincing in anticipation, tightened his grip around her neck. "All right," he said. "Let's get it over with."

"Feel better," Lily called quietly.

Graves smiled. "Thanks, redheaded lady friend."

"_Go_," Severus bit out.

"Okay, okay," Cadogan said. She drew a deep breath and Disapparated with a sharp _pop_.

Severus turned to Lily. "I trust nothing untoward occurred during my absence?"

Lily shook her head. "Marlene drooled on my skirt, but other than that—"

"I didn't," McKinnon sleepily refuted.

Severus snorted. "Lovely," he said. He extended a hand to Lily and said, "We should leave. Rescue workers have already started to arrive."

Lily gently shook McKinnon until the older girl sat up, blinked, and muttered, "If I'd had my Beater's bat I could've stopped it."

Lily grimaced. "You're sure you shouldn't cast a Sobering Charm?"

Severus helped Lily to her feet. "As tempting as the offer is," he replied, "I've no desire to be caught casting in a Muggle neighbourhood that's just seen a magical explosion."

Lily's eyebrows shot up. "You definitely think it was magical?"

Severus paused for only the briefest second before replying, "I've never seen a Muggle fire emit such dark, black smoke, have you?"

"I suppose not," Lily said. She paused before adding, "What… what was it like? In there?"

Severus shrugged. "Flames. Smoke. There were still people trying to leave."

"Did—was anybody…?" Lily trailed off.

"Yes," Severus said softly, "but…nobody I recognised. I believe there were only Muggles left inside."

Lily blinked, and Severus was horrified to realise that her eyes were rapidly filling with tears. She flung her arms around his ribcage and buried her face against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, muffled, "I'm just—what if something had happened when you went back? You could have—"

"Nothing happened," said Severus, alarmed.

"I know, I know," Lily said. "Just…give me a minute." Severus obligingly wrapped his arms around her; after a moment, she withdrew slightly and said, "Next time, you take me with you."

Absolutely not. "Certainly," Severus replied.

"Okay," McKinnon said, "now I am going to vomit."

Lily laughed, rolled her eyes, and reached down and grabbed McKinnon by the arm. "Up you get, captain. Time to go home."

McKinnon stood, took a deep breath, and said, "To be clear, I only had two beers. I'm just sleepy."

"You had at least four that I _saw_," Lily clarified. "But it doesn't matter. We're getting a taxi back to my house and you can both Apparate back to London in the morning."

Severus swallowed. "I'd thought to escort you home and then return to—"

"Nope," Lily said. "Are there really Portkeys running now? No? I didn't think so. Marlene has to get back to Diagon Alley tomorrow anyway. She'll take you."

"But your parents—"

"Aren't home yet, and you can Disapparate straight from upstairs in the morning," Lily finished. She stuck a finger in his face and announced, "I don't want _you_ running around Manchester by yourself any more than you want _me_ to. D'you understand?"

McKinnon groaned. "If you're both so bloody worried about each other why are we still standing here in this dodgy alley?" She pointed enthusiastically in the general direction of what Severus gathered was meant to be the busier thoroughfares and said, "Let's get a taxi, then."

Severus quirked an eyebrow at Lily, who gamely smiled. "Lead the way," she said, and the two of them followed McKinnon in what, hopefully, would turn out to be a crossroads rife with taxis.

One hour and an obscene quantity of pounds later—which Lily, to Severus' chagrin, had paid, as he hadn't thought to exchange sufficient Galleons—Severus found himself lying chastely on the floor next to Lily's childhood bed, not giving a single damn that he was gradually losing the feeling in the hand that reached up to hold Lily's as she slept.

* * *

_Hello Snape,_

_I owe you an apology for the mess I left by the back door of your shop. I guess I was more hung over than I thought, cos I didn't expect that to happen when we Apparated. I should have cleaned it up but honestly, you deserved it after smirking at me and you really could have offered me a hangover remedy._

_Anyway, you're an all right sort and Lily's over the moon for you (not that she'd want me to tell you so, but I get the feeling you're well aware) so I hope you'll forgive my fit of spite. Mates?_

_Happy New Year,_

_MM_

* * *

A week later, Severus was rather surprised to be awakened by the sound of talons rapping at his bedroom's small window. It was only a few minutes before his customary rising time, so he sat up and allowed the bird—which he quickly recognised as Lily's—to enter and perch atop his headboard.

He frowned; he and Lily had been keeping in contact via her clever notebooks, from which he had learned that the return train to Hogwarts had been uneventful, that McKinnon was still thoroughly embarrassed at having vomited on his doorstep, and that James Potter hadn't even merited a mention. What possible purpose…?

He reached up to untie the parcel attached to the animal's talons; it was, remarkably, a largeish, flat, Muggle-style envelope. He opened the envelope; inside was a black-and-white notebook, nearly identical to the one Lily had given him on Christmas, along with what seemed to be a rather lengthy letter.

Of course. It was, after all, his birthday.

"Wait here," Severus instructed the owl. After retrieving an owl treat from the kitchen and sending the animal on her way, he sat back down on his bed and read:

_Dear Severus,_

_Happy birthday! You're probably thinking "Another notebook?" Here's the story:_

_I wanted to give you something useful, but not boring like a new set of robes. And it had to be __good__, of course—you only come of age once! So towards the end of last term, I asked Professor McGonagall what a useful, __good__ gift for a young scholar would be. (She guessed it was you. She says hello and that she hopes you're behaving yourself.)_

_So I took Professor McGonagall's advice and I went to Professor Flitwick, who helped me with the charm work. (He also says hello. Clearly Professor Slughorn is an old gossip. At least Prof Flitwick didn't offer any behaviour advice.) So what you hold in your hands is a Self-Indexing Research Journal. I won't bore you with the details (though come to think of it that's the kind of thing you like so let me know if you want to see __my__ notes) but basically it pays attention to key words in your notes and then it indexes them together in the back. The idea is that you won't have to organise your notes, you can just write them down in whatever order, because the notebook organises them for you. In any case Professor Flitwick said he'd wished he'd had something like this when __he__ was an apprentice so I figure that's a good sign._

_(And yes, I used what I learned to make this to make your Christmas present, which was really kind of a selfish gift on my part just because I want to talk to you all the time. So really it was your Christmas gift that was "another" notebook, so if you are disappointed with either you should be disappointed with that one. Not that I hope you're disappointed.)_

_I hope you like it, and that it's useful, and that you are at least half as happy today as you've made me in the last few months. (Which I should probably specify is really happy.)_

_Thinking of you as always, with love,_

_Your Lily_

Severus smiled, rolled his eyes, and snorted in turn before he opened the Christmas notebook and, after a moment of hesitation, scrawled: _How could I possibly be disappointed by either of your admirably-designed gifts? I find the research journal, like this notebook, nearly as brilliant as the witch who made it. Thank you._ Then he closed the notebook and, after a quick shower and quicker breakfast, headed downstairs to open the shop.

Oh his way to unlock the front door, he found himself stopping short in front of the counter, upon which rested a small, innocuous-looking box wrapped in plain brown paper.

Several diagnostic spells later, Severus cautiously reached for the evidently uncursed box. He carefully slid his fingers beneath the paper, peeling it back to reveal a hinged wooden box and a small square of parchment, which read:

_Mr Snape:_

_Congratulations on reaching your majority. Horace Slughorn, also, sends his regards._

_A. Jigger_

Severus opened the box. Inside was a watch.

The item in question was—as befitting a potioneer—of the pocket, rather than wrist-worn, variety. Severus removed it from the box and pressed the small button at the top, revealing its face; upon seeing it, he involuntarily took a sharp intake of breath. It was truly a potioneer's watch, with multiple dials, each one able to be set with vocal commands, down to the millisecond, so that the brewer might orchestrate the timing of even the most intricate draughts.

Severus had once owned such a watch. He'd bought it for himself from a second-hand shop in Knockturn Alley sometime during his twenty-fifth year.

He closed the watch and, feeling rather foolish, flipped it over in his palm. It was, as he had not quite allowed himself to imagine, engraved; the inscription was a simple _S. Snape_.

He stared at the watch for a full minute before he became aware of a knocking at the shop's front window. He glanced over; a harried-looking, youngish wizard—certainly older than Severus was currently, but no older than he had once been—was peering anxiously into the shop.

Severus lifted a hand in greeting, and then, firmly Occluded, he hastened to unlock and open the door, allowing the customer to slip inside.

"So sorry," the man said as Severus switched the shop's sign to _Open_, "but I've got just enough time to pick up a few things before I catch my Portkey, and I saw you standing there, so…"

"My apologies for the wait," Severus said smoothly. "Please let me know how I might be of assistance."

The wizard nodded and pulled a scrap of parchment out of his pocket—the inevitable shopping list, it seemed—but stopped short of handing it to Severus. "I say," he said instead, "that's a nice watch."

Severus glanced down. He was still holding it. "I—it's new," he said.

"Is it one of Osterman's?" the man asked, finally handing Severus his shopping list.

Severus slipped the watch into his pocket, where it resided with a reassuring weight, and accepted the parchment. "I'm not sure," he said. "It was…a gift." He quickly scanned the list.

"You're not seventeen?" the man said, and then, glancing back at the discarded box on the counter, asked, "It's not your birthday _today_?"

"It… is," Severus said. "The beetle eyes, would those be whole or ground?"

"Well!" The man, alarmingly, clapped Severus on the shoulder. "Many happy returns of the day, then."

"Thank you," Severus said shortly. "The beetle eyes…?"

"You must have a nightmare of a boss," the wizard continued, oblivious, "making you work on your seventeenth birthday of all—"

"I don't, actually," Severus interrupted. "And is that whole or ground beetle eyes, sir?"

The man blinked. "Ah, ground," he said at last.

"Very good," Severus replied, and then he set about filling the idiot's order.

* * *

Severus presented himself to the Department of Magical Transportation promptly at nine o'clock the next morning, just as a plump, frizzy-haired woman was opening the office door. She glanced at him, started, and said, "I'm sorry, the Being Division is on the fourth floor."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I've a nine o'clock appointment with the Apparition Test Centre."

The woman, who had been in the midst of inexplicably tightening her scarf, blinked. "You don't—you aren't—ah." She smiled nervously and patted ineffectually at her hair. "Of course, love. Come right this way. You'll want the second door on the left, there."

Severus nodded, said "thank you," and ignored her irrationally given advice that he try to "get a little more sun, love."

The exam, unsurprisingly, was extremely simple for a person who'd been Apparating regularly for the better part of twenty years, and Severus shortly found himself standing in front of a young witch with a camera, having his photograph taken for his license.

The witch took his picture, immersed the film into the developing solution, and visibly flinched. "Ah," she said, "would you like to take another photograph?"

Severus, expecting the girl to have bungled the photography, scowled and looked at the developed picture. It was like every other Wizarding photograph of himself he'd ever seen, which is to say that it was unattractive, unpleasant, and likely to make rude gestures at the viewer. "That one's fine," he said shortly.

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_."

Ten minutes later, license finally in hand, he quickly descended the two flights of stairs to the Atrium. He weaved his way through the queues of witches and wizards waiting for the lifts, noticed Lucius Malfoy among them, attempted to turn around and head back into the stairway—

And was spotted.

"Snape," Malfoy drawled, taking a step towards him, "and here I thought term had surely started back at Hogwarts. What ever brings you to the Ministry? Surely not more tests?"

Severus, glossing quite over Malfoy's continued misassumption, affected a rueful half-smile. "Just the Apparition test. Now I've had my birthday, I don't want to have to wait until March when everyone else takes it."

"Understandable, understandable," Malfoy murmured. "And did you succeed?"

Severus held up his license in response. The small, moving, black-and-white photo raised an eyebrow at him, sneered, and turned away.

Merlin, his nose _did_ nearly take up the whole frame.

"Lovely," Malfoy said. "Well. Do tell Horace—that is, Professor Slughorn—I'll see him at the next governors' meeting. Did you know I've replaced Father on the board?"

"I didn't," Severus replied. "Congratulations."

Malfoy waved a hand in dismissal. "Father's only too happy to have me take over some of the responsibilities of the Malfoy family, and I'm quite pleased to be doing so at Hogwarts. Education is so very important, as I've always said."

Malfoy had always been fond of waxing idiotic. "Certainly," Severus replied.

The lift arrived, and Malfoy smiled. "Enjoy the rest of your holiday," he said, walking towards it, and Severus, relieved, turned and headed for the Atrium's designated Disapparation point.

* * *

In an admittedly ridiculous fit of immaturity, Severus briefly considered Apparating down into the laboratory in the morning. (He didn't, because it was ridiculous, and also because Master Jigger would undoubtedly hex him.) So, as was usual, he headed downstairs shortly at half past nine o'clock, and as such was surprised to see that Cadogan was already there, hanging up her cloak at the foot of the stairs.

"You're already here?" Severus asked.

Cadogan rolled her eyes. "It's not like I'm usually late, you know," she retorted.

"Hmm." Severus raised an eyebrow. "How is Mr Graves?"

"Better," Cadogan replied. "He's gotten better used to the cast, and he thinks he'll be up to going back into rehearsal tomorrow."

"That must be welcome," Severus said.

Cadogan nodded. "I think we're both quite relieved that it wasn't his hand that was broken." She bit her lower lip, and added, "And I know you don't want me to bring it up, but we're both so grateful—"

Fortunately, Master Jigger chose that moment to arrive. He stepped in through the back door, blinked at the two of them, and proceeded to remove his cloak.

"Good morning," Cadogan said, cutting into the sudden silence.

"Ms Cadogan," Jigger acknowledged, "Mr Snape. I trust your weekend passed in a satisfactory manner?"

"Yes," Severus replied and, inelegantly, added, "Sir, I can't express how pleased I was with—"

"There's really no need, Mr Snape," Jigger interrupted, his discomfort obvious despite his Occlusion. "It was Horace's idea, I assure you." Then he scowled and quickly added, "But you're welcome," before he turned in a swirl of robes and headed for the laboratory, calling out "Don't dither all morning" as he closed the door behind him.

Cadogan turned back to Severus. "What was that all about? What was Horace's—Slughorn's?—idea?"

Severus swallowed. "They gave me a watch."

"What?" Cadogan exclaimed. "They—why?"

"It…was my birthday," Severus said, heading slowly towards the laboratory stairs.

"What?" Cadogan exclaimed again, following him. "It was your _birthday_?"

Severus scowled. "That is what I said, yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cadogan demanded.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see how that would have been a relevant topic of conversation."

"You're unbelievable," Cadogan said flatly. "Go downstairs."

Severus shrugged and heeded the crazy woman's instructions, ignoring her muttered comment of "I'm going to knit you a scarf and you're going to _like_ it" as he started down the stairs.

In the laboratory, Jigger merely gestured at the list of shop potions that needed brewing; Severus nodded and began arranging his work surface. As he did, he spared a glance into the cauldron containing Lily's simmering birthday present; barring an unforeseen accident, it would be ready well within the necessary three weeks.

The weight of his watch rested reassuringly in his pocket as he crossed the room to gather supplies for yet another batch of Pepper-Up.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_I wish I could be with you today as you celebrate another year of your life. In my absence, I hope you will accept this, the smallest token of my affection for you. I hope it brings you the greatest luck._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Severus_

_[Enclosed: One bottle of Felix Felicis.]_

* * *

A/N: It is sorely tempting to just write a series of "Severus Terrorizes the Citizens of Diagon Alley" stories. Alas! This is not, quite, that story.

Thank you for all of your reviews, both those posted here and elsewhere on the internet. They are much appreciated, and even when I am unable to reply to each one, I promise that I am reading, enjoying, and thinking about them all.

Coming up: Valentine's Day and other activities, none of which include Madam Puddifoot's.


	20. February 1977

**Chapter 19  
****February, 1977**

"Here."

Severus was somewhat surprised to have an envelope thrust in his face the moment he reached the top of the laboratory stairs. "Here," Cadogan reiterated, pushing the envelope at him.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Cadogan rolled her eyes. "Open it."

After a brief, sharp glance at his employee—really, the woman had been taking far too many liberties with their interpersonal comportment as of late—Severus turned his attention to the envelope in question. He had barely recognised the crest embossed in the wax seal—CERM—before he'd opened it and was speedily reading the letter's content.

"Well?" Cadogan prompted. Severus shushed her and continued to read, feeling rather more pleased with each word. When at last he'd finished the letter, he glanced up and said, "Our solution will be presented in next month's _Potions Quarterly_."

Cadogan whooped; Severus flinched. "That's fantastic!" she said. "You've got to order copies. We should frame one for the shop."

"You're surely joking," Severus replied. When Cadogan shook her head, Severus added, "You don't find the notion of displaying my _one_ published article—and not a single one of the _dozens_ of Master Jigger's—somewhat…frivolous?"

"But it's your _first_ article," Cadogan insisted.

The laboratory door hit Severus in the back; he stepped out of the way, still glancing over the letter.

"Ms Cadogan," Jigger said, closing the laboratory door behind him. "Have you closed the register?" When Cadogan nodded, Jigger continued, "Then good evening, Ms Cadogan."

Cadogan ignored the clear dismissal and effused, "Mr Jigger, the letter from the Potions board—"

Jigger immediately turned to Severus. "And?"

"It will be in the next issue," Severus confirmed.

Both of Jigger's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly as he said, "Ah. Excellent."

It was the greatest show of excitement that Severus had ever seen from the man. Severus handed him the letter, which he proceeded to read.

A loud rapping suddenly emanated from the front of the shop. All three inhabitants looked to the window, where, alarmingly, a young witch in a luridly-coloured hat was animatedly waving one mittened hand at them as her breath fogged up the glass.

"We've closed," Severus called towards the window, even though there was no way she could possibly hear him, as Cadogan brushed past the two wizards and headed for the door; Jigger's attention returned to the letter from CERM.

"I'm sorry," Cadogan said, "that's—she's for me." She unlocked the door, opened it a crack, told the woman, "So sorry, I'll be out in a moment, I've just got to pop round the back if that's all right."

"Not at all," the woman said cheerily, and Cadogan closed and re-locked the door.

Severus looked at her. "That's," she said, "well, we met on New Year's Eve? A group of us were talking about how terrible Wizarding music is, you know, with the triangles and whatnot—"

"Rather," Severus said drily.

"Right," Cadogan said with a laugh. "So it turned out a few of us were musicians, so we're getting together to jam."

"'Jam'?" Severus repeated.

Cadogan rolled her eyes. "It's when a group of musicians—"

"I'm aware of the term, Ms Cadogan," Severus said. "I merely had no idea the shop had such a beatnik in its employ."

"Deep inside," Cadogan told him flatly, "you are an old, old man. Good night." She glanced over at Jigger and added, "I'll see you both on Tuesday."

Jigger, still reading, responded with a vague "Mmm." Cadogan shrugged, waved her fingers at Severus, and headed towards the back of the shop.

Finally, Jigger looked up from the letter. "Page five," he said.

Severus nodded. "So they say."

"It is sufficiently respectable, page five," Jigger said.

"So I thought," Severus replied.

"The next one," Jigger said, handing the letter back to Severus, "will merit the cover."

"The next one, sir?" Severus repeated.

"After you pass the QUAILs in June, you will, of course, have all the more time to devote to your research," Jigger continued. "Do begin to give some thought to your proposal." He turned to leave, adding, "I look forward to it."

Severus exhaled slowly, calmly. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Yes," Jigger said. "Well." He cleared his throat, blinked, nodded, and resumed his path towards the shop's exit.

Severus looked back at the letter once more before very carefully re-folding it and slipping it into his pocket.

* * *

_Lily – The letter from CERM came today. You can expect to receive a copy of __Potions Quarterly__ next month, and when it arrives, I expect you'll be interested in what appears on page five._

_Sev - ! Amazing! I wonder if you're the youngest published contributor? I'm so proud of you. Do you want me to tell Professor Slughorn?_

_Lily – I believe it may be best if we avoid giving the esteemed professor any cause for considering the two of us together. I shall write him, if Master Jigger has not already._

_Sev – Ugh. Good point._

* * *

Severus was just wiping down the counter when the shop's front door opened. Annoyed at himself for forgetting to lock it promptly at closing time, Severus called out, "I'm sorry, but we've closed. If you'd—"

He looked up, his breath catching in his throat. Standing just inside the shop, snowflakes melting on her eyelashes, was Lily.

"Hello, Sev," she said, smiling softly.

"What—what are you doing here?" Severus, who was apparently determined to behave like an absolute idiot, said.

Lily took off her knit hat, shook back her gleaming hair, and said, "What, no proper hello?"

Severus, his mouth quite dry, came around the counter. Lily immediately threw herself into his arms and held him close; he helplessly wrapped his arms around her, uncaring of the snow still clinging to her cloak (his shop robes were, after all, waterproof), and buried his nose into her hair.

She smelled like the halls of Hogwarts, like the February snow, like home brewed honeysuckle and vanilla perfume, and like something…something Severus couldn't quite place.

"I've missed you so much," Lily said against his shoulder.

"Of course I…return your feelings," Severus replied. Lily held him more tightly for a moment longer before she relaxed her hold on him and withdrew slightly, smiling up at him.

"This is possibly the…best surprise I've ever had," Severus said, which was a remarkable understatement. "But I do find my curiosity piqued as to how you've come to be here?"

Lily grinned. "We had the day in Hogsmeade, to celebrate Valentine's Day, since of course they wouldn't give us a Monday free from classes," she explained, idly wrapping her fingers in his robes. "So I remembered what you told me—how you got to Hogsmeade when you visited on Halloween—and I used the Broomsticks' Floo to get to the Leaky, and…here I am." Her bright eyes shone up at him.

Severus fought the nigh overwhelming urge to lean down and meet her lips with his own, and instead said, almost calmly, "I fear your absence will not go unnoticed."

Lily smiled and, pulling him by the robes, brought him even closer. "Don't worry," she said. "Remus is on duty, not me."

"But—your dormitory," Severus said weakly, "and Miss MacDonald—"

"Mary will assume I'm with Marlene, who knows to cover for me," Lily said. "Relax, Sev." And then, fingers still wound in his shop robes, she reached up and kissed him.

An interminable amount of time later, she pulled away and whispered, "Let's go upstairs. I've never seen your flat."

Severus blinked, and swallowed, and blinked, and tried to recall any reason why that particular notion was anything but the best suggestion he'd ever heard. "Your Head of House—"

"Severus," Lily said firmly, "nobody will think to notice that I'm gone for the next twenty hours. Why don't you lock the door, and let's go upstairs."

Severus did have to admit that the door needed to be locked. With a quick wave of his wand, the shop's door was locked and its sign read, "Closed." As it was, in fact, inappropriate to remain in the closed shop, he allowed Lily to take him by the hand and lead him through the shop to the rear staircase, where he followed her up to his flat, flicking off the shop lights as he passed.

In his living-kitchen-dining room, Lily shrugged off her cloak and draped it neatly over the back of one of Severus' three kitchen chairs. Severus concentrated on breathing slowly, evenly, as he registered that she was wearing not her school robes, but rather a pair of remarkably—_remarkably_—flattering dress robes, which did an especially effective job of setting off—

Severus shook his head, and breathed, and thought, and—

"Lily," he said slowly, "why do you say that your absence will go unnoticed for the next twenty hours?"

Lily grinned, and grabbed Severus' hand, and said, "I'm feeling very…_lucky_, tonight."

Of course.

She had, after all, smelled like liquid gold.

"How much did you take?" Severus asked urgently.

"Relax, Sev," Lily said. "I may not be the youngest potioneer to ever be published in _Potions Quarterly_, but I _am_ a NEWT student. I know what a safe dosage of Felix Felicis is." She smiled, reached for Severus' other hand, and pulled him close to her. "So don't worry. I can stay til lunchtime tomorrow."

Lily leaned up to kiss him; Severus pulled back. Seeing the mixture of hurt and confusion that immediately appeared in her eyes, he hastily said, "My apologies, but you must understand that I fear the potion has made you reckless. If you are acting out of character, I could not, in good conscience—"

"Severus," Lily said, laughing and placing her hands on his shoulders, "why do you think I took the potion in the first place?" She leaned up and whispered into his ear, "Let me give you my Valentine's gift."

Severus, who never stumbled, took an even step backwards. "This is," he said, "that is to say. If your behaviour is reckless—"

"Sev," Lily said again, insistently, "we've been going out for almost four months. We're both of age." She blushed, charmingly, and said, "I think it's time we…but if you don't want…"

She hesitated like a teenager, which she was, and which Severus was _not_, not really, and still Severus said, "I assure you, that is not the case," and she smiled and closed the space between them—

And Severus took another step back. "Please know that I am in no way…undesiring of what you have suggested," he said, "but—we should—" He swallowed. "We should be properly prepared for such an undertaking."

Lily peered at him. "Er," she said. "What exactly do you mean?"

Severus had spent months—seven, to be precise—attempting to _not_ think of the very proposition Lily was so very insistent upon. Regardless of the propriety, or lack thereof, of a teenaged boy who wasn't, not really, engaging in…well. Regardless of _that_, there was, more importantly, the fact that he had absolutely no intention—none whatsoever—of participating (however pleasant that participation might be) in an act that could inadvertently result in the creation of a child born to Lily Evans. If there was, in this universe he now occupied, ever to be a Chosen One—

That child would _not_ be Lily's.

The very idea was beyond terrifying.

Severus inhaled, calmly and collectedly, and slowly exhaled. "May I get you a drink?" he said at last.

Lily smiled wryly and sat in Severus' single armchair. "I'd like that, thank you."

Severus took the few steps into the "kitchen" and surveyed the contents of the cooling cupboard. "Ah," he said. "I can…" He glanced back at her. "I'm afraid I can only offer you water with, or without, ice."

"Hmm." Lily tapped her index finger against her chin in a show of thoughtfulness. "I am a Gryffindor, after all, so let's live dangerously and I'll say _with_."

Severus snorted, filled a glass at the tap, and, with a gesture, froze the top third of the glass's contents into cubes. He handed the glass to Lily, who took it, smiled, and said, "Thanks, show-off."

Severus shrugged and, drawing one of the kitchen chairs out from the table, sat down opposite Lily. "So," he said.

"So," Lily echoed.

"So," Severus said again. "As I say, as much as I would gladly—eagerly—accept your suggested endeavour for this evening, I must regretfully admit that we two are not, quite, prepared for such an activity."

Lily peered at him. "Do you mean, like, well…protection?"

Severus leaned back in his chair. "As you say."

Lily's lips quirked. "Ah, you _are_ a wizard, aren't you?"

"A wizard who had neither sufficient advance notice, nor the gall to presuppose the need, to brew an appropriate potion," Severus said.

Lily, mirth evident in her voice, asked, "But you _do_ know how to cast a _contraceptus_? Surely you remember your third year—"

"Unfortunately," Severus affirmed, not quite shuddering at the uncomfortable "facts of life" lesson that the Slytherins had received from Professor Slughorn. (In his own tenure as Head of House, he'd had the seventh-year Prefects conduct that lesson, which was better for everyone, excepting, possibly, the seventh-year Prefects.)

"So." Lily leaned forward in her chair, the glass of water balanced on her knee. "What preparation are we lacking?"

Severus fought the urge to move his chair away from Lily. "That charm is subject to human error," he said instead.

Lily cocked her head to the side. "You're not," she retorted.

"As much as I appreciate your confidence in my wand-waving," Severus said drily, "I would prefer not to leave such a vital matter to a charm that has only ninety-five percent efficacy when cast by a master."

Lily shrugged broadly. "What, then?" she asked.

Severus smirked. "As is so often the case, potions are far, _far_ more effective than spellwork," he said. "And with proper notice, I can certainly brew an appropriate dosage, tailored specifically to your needs."

Lily pressed a hand to her heart. "You're so romantic," she deadpanned.

Severus scowled. "I prefer 'respectful and appropriately cautious.'"

Lily laughed. "I'm just teasing, Sev. Believe me—I really do appreciate that you're not…like other boys."

She had no idea. "Well," Severus said.

"Well," Lily echoed. She bit her lower lip and, after a moment, said, "You know, I _did_ take enough Felix to stay here til tomorrow morning, and it would be a shame to waste it." She toyed with her water glass and added, "After all, you haven't shown me the rest of your flat."

"There isn't much to it," Severus said, raising one eyebrow.

"Surely there's another room," Lily said.

"Well, yes," Severus said. He met Lily's eyes and fought the inane and inexplicable urge to adjust his glasses.

"There are…other things," Lily said gently, "that we can do."

Severus swallowed. "I suppose," he acknowledged, "that there are."

And then, all arguments to the contrary defeated, the urgent voice in his head silenced, and the doubtless influence of Felix Felicis blamed, Severus reached out, took Lily's water glass, and set it on the table. He took her hand in his, brought them both to their feet, and, finally, led her to the bedroom.

And when she asked him to touch her, there was nothing he could do but, reverently, comply.

* * *

Severus awoke, as he always did, to immediate alertness—but, for the first time in recent memory, he nonetheless found himself somewhat disoriented.

After all, it was not every day that he awoke with Lily Evans in his arms.

Out of necessity—his bed was, of course, quite narrow—they had gone to sleep (when they had finally got around to sleeping) with Lily on her side, facing the wall, and with Severus curled up protectively behind her. His right arm was wrapped around her waist, and his left arm was, rather than in its customary position beneath his pillow with his wand in hand, somewhere beneath Lily's neck. He was unsure as to its precise location, as he had long ago lost all sensation in that extremity.

It surprised him how little he cared.

Realising that Lily still slept—it was fairly early, even by Hogwarts standards—he very carefully extricated himself from his position around her. She stirred briefly, but didn't wake; she merely rolled over and burrowed further into Severus' single blanket. (Severus wished briefly for a camera, but immediately discarded that notion as being, in a word, creepy.)

Massaging the feeling back into his left arm and suppressing the urge to hiss at the sensation, he made his silent way into the loo, where he attempted to make himself presentable (or, at the least, not objectionable). Freshly showered, he returned to his bedroom to find Lily, who had evidently awakened, stretching like a contented cat in his bed, wearing one of his (his!) nightshirts. "Good morning," she said.

"Ah," Severus replied eloquently.

"What time is it?" Lily asked, swinging her feet around and setting them on the floor.

"It's just gone half past seven," Severus said, watching her progress with (hopefully) disguised interest.

"Hmm," Lily said, stretching her legs, "I've got til eleven until I might be missed—I took enough Felix to last until three, but I'd rather not press it by missing any important classes and I've got Charms at eleven."

"That leaves time enough for breakfast," Severus pointed out.

"So it does," Lily said, smiling. "Do you cook?"

"My cooking is adequate, but hardly inspiring," Severus said truthfully. "However, I'm certain we will find pleasant fare at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Do they serve breakfast on Mondays?" Lily asked. "I know a lot of the shops are closed—"

"If you want breakfast, they'll be serving breakfast," Severus said.

Lily stood up. "Really?" she said. "Just because—"

"With a day's dose of _my_ Felix Felicis in you?" Severus said, eyebrow raised. "They probably have sticky buns."

"I," Lily said reverently, "love sticky buns." She shot him a grin, said, "Let me freshen up," and trotted out of the room.

If Severus had been less confident of his brewing skills, he would have marvelled at the way his normally touchy shower stayed hot through Lily's preparations; at the pristine, unwrinkled condition Lily's discarded robes seemed to have maintained; at the ease with which they quietly headed downstairs and out the back door, unnoticed; and, finally, at the two—two!—varieties of sticky buns that Tom himself seemed surprised to be offering them.

But as Severus was thoroughly confident of his brewing skills, he contented himself with marvelling at a very different sort of luck as he wrapped his arms around Lily to Side-Along her back to Hogsmeade.

* * *

_Lily - Thank you, truly, for making a "holiday" I previously detested one of the best days of my life._

_Sev - Thank __you__ for breakfast, and for the Euphoria you brewed me, which I did find in my bag once I got back here—though may I say, it wasn't necessary._

* * *

For a week, Severus considered the potential consequences of further intimacy with Lily Evans. He weighed the risks; he contemplated the possible methods of avoiding said risks. And by the time a week had passed, Severus had quite decided that, in order to prevent the birth and eventual Horcrux-ification of Harry Potter, he would have to commit himself to a full relationship, in every sense, to Lily Evans—

But, in no way, could he instead allow…Harry _Snape_, Merlin forbid, to come into existence and put Lily's life into the same danger she had faced in a different lifetime.

So Severus, recalling a curse he'd once read in a book he'd once owned, set about looking for that selfsame book in the bookshops and secondhand shops of Diagon Alley and, when those failed, in the esoteric stalls of Knockturn Alley.

Given the nature of the book he sought, it was rather inevitable that he would, finally, find the book in Borgin & Burkes.

He didn't need to purchase it—he had, after all, read it on more than one occasion, and had need only to double- and triple-check the precise incantation, as this was _not_ something to take lightly—so he merely lurked, Disillusioned, and read and re-read the relevant page until he was certain.

And certain he was.

The Heirless Curse was an especially obscure spell that had rather fallen out of favour in recent years. In centuries past, it had been a vicious weapon wielded against and amongst the elite Pureblood families; it was not unheard of for a jealous younger brother to cast the curse upon the elder, as a younger brother with many sons was, after all, a far better candidate for heir than an elder brother who, no matter how many times he lay with his wife—or with any woman, for that matter—had yet to produce a single child.

Modern thinking and estate laws had, of course, put this old-fashioned practise well out of mind. By 1977, it was brought up only in academic papers that discussed old Pureblood ways or the evolution of the categorisation of Dark Magic (the Heirless Curse, by nature of its disuse, had never been categorised one way or another). It was rare for someone to know of the spell, rarer still for someone to know how to cast it—

And, Severus reflected as he returned to his flat, most likely rarest of all for someone to cast it on himself.

Bound and determined that he would do everything—_everything_—in his power to prevent Lily Evans from becoming the damned mother of the Chosen One, Severus turned his wand on himself and ensured that he, at least, would not be responsible for the birth—or death—of any Prophesied child.

* * *

A/N: I regret the lateness of this chapter; those of y'all who have checked in on my livejournal will know that an unexpected—and, hopefully, not-to-be-repeated—personal matter kept me from writing. Thank you all for your support, your reviews, and your words of encouragement—and to those new readers who have come along since the last update, welcome! I'm so glad you're here.

Mr. Peters thinks I should write "Severus Snape and the Terribly Awkward Sex-Ed Lesson." I think I might agree.

In the next chapter—which will come quite a bit sooner than this one did—we shall have rather less romance and rather more Death Eaters. (After all, not every day can be Valentine's Day.)


	21. March 1977

**Chapter 20  
**March, 1977

_Snape,_

_I meant what I said about us being mates, so I hope you'll take this in the spirit it's meant—_

_If you hurt Lily, I will hex your bollocks off._

_MM_

* * *

_Dear Miss McKinnon,_

_I assure you that I have no intention whatsoever of presenting you with such an opportunity._

_Sincerely,_

_S. Snape_

* * *

_Lily…Must you tell your friend Miss McKinnon every detail of our personal lives?_

_Oh, Sev, it came up! I'm sorry!_

…

_If it makes you feel any better, I was very complimentary._

* * *

_Potions Quarterly, English Edition, March 1977  
__Page 5_

_THE 'MIND-OPENING POTION' AND ITS EFFECT ON VERITASERUM  
__Arsenius Jigger, M.P., M.D.M., and Severus Snape, Apprentice to A. Jigger, M.P., M.D.M._

_The authors present arithmantic and experimental results of a lovage-based variation of a standard Wit-Sharpening Potion ('Mind-Opening Potion') as combined with the use of standard Veritaserum. Clinical trials as described herein documented an increased efficacy of Veritaserum on subjects with and without resistance to standard Veritaserum through natural resistance or tolerance induced by repeated use. Authors extrapolate arithmantically that effect could apply also to Legilimency. 'Mind-Opening Potion' is subject to Alchemical Patent (AP) 3505.0873.α.2._

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_Arsenius told me the good news some weeks past, of course, but I simply had to wait until the journal itself arrived, and look what flew in the window today! Page five is __very__ respectable—my Master's Project, you should know, barely made page three! I've taken the liberty of enclosing my copy of your article; I flatter myself by imagining that one of my most prized students might be willing to indulge his old teacher by signing a copy of his first published article. You know how I like to keep the odd private memento—an old man's folly, but an incurable one, I'm afraid!_

_You should know, my boy, that however unusual the circumstances of your departure from Hogwarts, you have made Slytherin House proud._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Horace Slughorn_

_P.S. If you have not yet sent Miss Evans a copy of your article, may I be so forward as to suggest that you do so? I am given to understand that she has been looking forward to it!_

* * *

_Sev! Well? Did it come today?_

_Yes, as I'd said it would. Would you like a copy?_

_Of course! I really should get a subscription, so that I can keep up with all of your articles._

_How optimistic._

* * *

_Dear Professor Slughorn,_

_I am naturally pleased to return the enclosed copy of __Potions Quarterly__ with my signature and my thanks for your compliments, which, though pleasant to hear, are unnecessary, as I owe my current position entirely to your generous assistance._

_Best regards,_

_Severus Snape_

_P.S. Miss Evans has been sent a copy. Thank you._

* * *

Severus' large knife slid smoothly into the large, pale root as, with repeated, easy motions, he sliced the tuber into precisely even segments of one-sixteenth of an inch and tried not to dwell too long on the open, blissful expression that appeared on Lily's face as he—

He flipped the even slices onto their flat sides and proceeded to slice them crosswise. Perfectly ordered, equal strips became perfectly ordered, equal cubes—

—Lily wore perfume behind her ears, in the crook of her elbows, and on her inner—

The equal cubes were funnelled neatly into a waiting jar, from which they would be added to the batch of Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent he would begin after lunch (he would, of course, be sure to wash his hands). Severus reached for the next tuber—

—Lily's smooth, creamy skin was dotted with freckles everywhere, with the exception of—

"Mr Snape," Jigger's low, gravelly voice cut in, "please do try to notice when your shop girl summons you."

Severus glanced up; the alert that flashed when Cadogan needed assistance was blinking, and, based on Jigger's annoyance, most likely had been for some time. "My apologies," Severus said, and, pleased that he had merely been in the preparatory stages of the next stock potion, covered his chopped, diced, and shredded leaves, roots, and entrails. After washing his hands in the back sink, he briskly climbed the stairs to the shop.

He pushed the door open a crack and, seeing Cadogan, said, "Yes?"

She yanked the door open; Severus stayed upright and did not stumble in the slightest. "There's someone here for you," Cadogan said, obviously annoyed.

Severus frowned. "For me?"

"Yes," Cadogan practically spat.

"Who?" Severus pressed.

Cadogan, chewing on the inside of her cheek, merely gestured to her left with a jerk of her head. Exasperated, Severus wrapped his fingers around his wand and glanced into her mind—

And, firmly Occluding once more, settled his expression into a flawlessly neutral one as he stepped around the corner. "Mr Malfoy," he said. "How may I be of assistance?"

Lucius Malfoy, who had been in the midst of oh-so-casually strolling about the shop, turned with a flourish of posh robes. "Severus," he said. "I do hope I've not called you away from anything important."

"Nothing that can't wait," Severus replied evenly.

"Lovely," Malfoy said. Glancing at Cadogan, who still stood nearby, he said, "Yes, thank you for your assistance, Miss…"

"Cadogan," she said flatly. "We were prefects together? I was a year ahead of you? Ravenclaw?"

Malfoy cocked his head to the side. "No," he said, "doesn't ring a bell, I'm afraid."

"No," Cadogan said, her jaw tight, "I don't suppose it would." She turned to Severus and said, "I'll be in back if you need anything." She glanced one more time at Malfoy—who thoroughly ignored her—and then stalked off towards the rear of the shop, straightening bottles as she went.

Malfoy rolled his eyes conspiratorially; Severus merely regarded him coolly. When Severus didn't speak, Malfoy smiled, and, hissing like the snake he was, said, "Severus Snape. My, my, my. You have been keeping something from me, haven't you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Severus said politely.

Malfoy smirked. "All those times I came into the shop—not to mention the times I ran into you at the Ministry. And during school term, no less—I really should have realised, shouldn't I? But why would I have suspected that poor little Severus Snape"—he placed just the slightest accent on the 'poor'—"was making _such_ a name for himself?"

"I'm sure," Severus said, "that I don't know what—"

"No?" Malfoy said. He reached up and tapped the glass of the frame on the wall and read, "'By S. Snape, Apprentice to A. Jigger, M.P.' And here I had been under the impression that S. Snape was a sixth-year Slytherin shopboy."

_Damn_ Cadogan for hanging the blasted thing on the wall. "Yes, well," he said. "I've never been one to boast."

At that, Lucius threw back his head and laughed. "No, I suppose you haven't," he said, once his fit of mirth had passed. "But honestly, Severus, did you never think it appropriate to tell me that you'd left Hogwarts early? I had to hear the news from Horace Slughorn, of all people."

And damn Slughorn as well. "Oh?" Severus said.

"Imagine my surprise to see an article—why, _this_ article—left ever so prominently on Horace's desk when I joined him in his office for tea after the governors' meeting," Malfoy mused. "'To Professor Slughorn,' it read, 'who taught me so much.' 'What's this?' I asked Horace. 'Oh, that's young Snape's first published potion,' he said. 'Sat his NEWTs two years early, you know, and now he's apprenticing under my business partner.' _Apprenticing_." Malfoy rolled his eyes and said, "Severus. Any personal offense I might have felt when I realised that you had deliberately concealed such an important, life-changing development from me was simply blown away by the fact that you would allow old Sluggy to set you up with _his_ business partner in academic servitude." Malfoy scoffed. "Really, now. Slytherin to Slytherin, why would you allow yourself to enter into a position with no social standing to speak of and with no…financial gain whatsoever?"

"The only way to a Potions Mastery is through an apprenticeship," Severus said smoothly. "I'm fortunate that Professor Slughorn took enough of an interest in my abilities to arrange a position for me. His sponsorship has been vital."

"But such a talented young man as you," Malfoy said, "surely could—and _should_—have had other options. Truly, I'm a little hurt that you never considered…_me_ as a sponsor."

"You?" Severus repeated.

"But of course," Malfoy said. "As you know, the Malfoy name is not without influence. I could have arranged any number of positions for you, whether of the academic bent or to more…lucrative ends."

Lucius Malfoy was a pompous git. "I appreciate your kindness in thinking of me," Severus told him. "And I do apologise if my taciturnity has caused offense. I must confess that the opportunity to work with Master Jigger is so extraordinary that it still doesn't feel quite real."

Lucius smiled indulgently. "I'm sure it's not something a wizard of your…background could have anticipated," he said, and Severus suppressed the urge to hex the smirk off of his face. "But I do hope if this apprenticeship with Master…"

"Jigger," Severus supplied.

"Yes, Master Jigger. If this apprenticeship doesn't work out, well." Malfoy smiled. "I hope you'll remember my offer. You have other options, Severus."

"Thank you," Severus said. "I will certainly keep that in mind."

"Lovely," Malfoy said. "Have a lovely afternoon. Good day, Severus. Miss Cardigan."

Malfoy left the shop. Cadogan, who had made her way back towards the counter, groaned. "_God_ I hate that man," she said.

Severus glanced at her. "For any reason other than the obvious?"

She rolled her eyes. "He's just possibly the rudest son of a—ugh." She took a deep breath in and let it out, slowly. "It doesn't matter."

Newly suspicious, Severus peered at his Muggleborn employee. "Did he say anything inappropriate to you?" he demanded.

"No," Cadogan said bitterly. "Not hardly."

"You knew him at Hogwarts?" Severus prodded.

"Yes," Cadogan snapped. "Though you wouldn't know it from the way he talks to me now."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And you're certain nothing untoward occurred?"

"What? _No_," Cadogan insisted. "Can we just drop it, please?"

And then Severus, unpleasantly reminded of the day that Cadogan had been attacked by blood purist hoodlums and had attempted to conceal the occurrence from him, found himself, for the second time that morning, using legilimency against his employee. He looked into her eyes, brushed into the uppermost contents of her mind, and saw a young Lucius Malfoy—

"You snogged him," Severus said in shock.

Cadogan's eyes flew open and she took a step back. "What—I did _not_!" she exclaimed.

"You…snogged Lucius Malfoy," Severus repeated. He was going to be ill.

"Keep your _voice down_," Cadogan hissed.

"Why?" Severus said. "Of all the oily, priggish, elitist—"

"It was at a prefects' party," Cadogan spat, and Severus had to tear his eyes away from hers before he saw the whole sordid affair for himself. "We played Spin the Bottle. He was clearly disgusted by the very idea of even _touching_ a—someone like me, but when bloody Lestrange said, 'Oh, go on Luce, nothing wrong with a bit of sport'—and I didn't want to be the Mu—the Muggleborn who couldn't take a joke, so—" She stopped, closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. More calmly, she continued, "He's not my favourite person, but I certainly would still have expected him to _remember my name_."

Severus, for lack of an appropriate response, said, "I apologise for intruding."

"How," Cadogan said, "did you _know_?"

Severus grimaced but, smoothly, said, "You clearly had _some_ history with the man. His…politics…wouldn't lend to his entertaining a dalliance of any…length with someone of a background dissimilar to his own, but—"

"Please stop," Cadogan said, looking disgusted.

"Gladly," Severus replied.

"I'm taking my lunch break now," Cadogan informed him. "And when I come back, we're pretending this never happened."

"Acceptable," Severus said, wanting only to rid his mouth of the taste of bile.

Cadogan, glaring, stalked off towards the back of the shop.

Severus took five Sickles out of his pocket, popped them into the register, and then helped himself to a bottle of mouth-cleaning solution.

* * *

_Good evening, Lily. A recent conversation with my employee has led me to wonder: Do you attend Prefect-only parties with any regularity?_

_Well, sure. It's traditional—and it's nice, sometimes, to socialise with non-Gryffindors. (You know how much I enjoy socialising with non-Gryffindors!)_

_Please tell me you don't_

…_Sev?_

_My apologies; I wrote into the wrong notebook. What occurs during these parties? Ms Cadogan is curious if they are the same as during her time at Hogwarts._

_Oh, we gossip about classes and professors, mostly. It's really not exciting—given that we're all Prefects, there's no one there of ill repute to spike the punch._

_That's rather as I expected. Thank you; I'm sure Ms Cadogan will find this interesting._

* * *

_Dear Snape,_

_You may recall my mentioning at Professor Slughorn's Christmas party that I had recently been inducted into the "Slug Club." So it will most likely not come as a surprise to you that I heard about your published article in __Potions Quarterly__ from Sluggy at the most recent Slug Club dinner. I looked at the summary, but as you may recall I am only a fourth-year student and not a particularly skilled Potioneer, the concepts were rather above me, but it seemed very impressive, and given how Sluggy was strutting around I'd say you've done quite well. So you have my congratulations, and I hope you are doing as well as your success in Potions indicates._

_Best regards,_

_Regulus Black_

* * *

His hair damp from his shower but, still, roughly pulled back from his face in obeisance of Jigger's directives, Severus skittered down the stairs in the loose-limbed manner to which his seventeen-year-old body seemed so oddly suited. He headed for the laboratory door, said, "Hello, Ms Cadogan" to the woman behind the counter, and—

And realised that she was not, in fact, standing behind the counter, but rather standing in the open front doorway of the shop, apparently looking at something down the Alley.

"Ms Cadogan," Severus said again, walking over to stand behind his employee, "Warming Charms can only hold off the elements for so long. Why in Merlin's name are you—"

He fell silent when he finally noticed the acrid scent in the air and put together that what Ms Cadogan was looking at—what he was now looking at—was a storefront, several shops down, that was blackened and smouldering, as a small handful of Ministry wizards directed streams of water onto the few flickers of flames still lingering inside. A few more wizards lingered in the vicinity of the burning shop, but not nearly as many as Severus might have expected, given the high-traffic time of day and the rarity of a fire on Diagon Alley.

"I didn't hear anything," he said.

Cadogan glanced back over her shoulder at him. "What, are you on the volunteer fire brigade?"

Severus snorted. "I was referring to the fire-sensing charms. All the shops have them, and they're rather loud enough to alert someone not halfway down the Alley."

"Either it didn't have them," Cadogan said, "or whoever set the damn thing on fire removed them first."

"What makes you so certain it was arson?" Severus asked, curious.

Cadogan turned around to face him; Severus took a step backwards. "You don't know?" she said. "Wait—of course you don't." She rolled her eyes. "It's—well, it _was_—the Books & Bits & Bobs." When Severus still didn't respond, Cadogan clarified, "The Muggle bookshop and knick-knack shop."

"Such a place exists?" Severus asked.

"Well, it did, until someone set it on fire," Cadogan retorted, and then she turned again to look out the door. "If I had to guess, I'd say someone thought it was dirtying up the purity of Diagon Alley." She wrapped her arms around herself—Severus belatedly realised that she was wearing only her uniform shop robes against the cold—and continued, "It's a funny sort of place. I only went inside once—I was the only Muggle-born Ravenclaw girl in my year, and my best friend, the summer before second year, dragged me in to Bits—that's what they called it, just "Bits"—and was so excited to have me explain what everything was, though of course everything was simply _years_ out of date—and when I suggested that we could, y'know, go out to Muggle London proper, she just _boggled_."

Severus, unsure how else to respond to Cadogan's ramblings, said honestly, "I never noticed it."

"I did," Cadogan replied. "When everything magical is completely new to you, a storefront displaying Shakespeare, Yeats, and screwdrivers is a comfort."

Severus registered the sound of the shop's rear door opening and closing and quickly pulled Cadogan by the elbow backwards into the shop, closing the front door firmly. He turned around just as Jigger strode into the front of the shop and, without preamble, demanded, "What did you do?"

"I beg your pardon?" Severus replied.

"Explain," Jigger said, "why I smell smoke, why this room is much cooler than it ought to be, and why you are up here, rather than downstairs preparing your station."

Before Severus could reply, Cadogan interjected, "I'm sorry, Mister Jigger, but I kept the front door open too long. I was distracted by watching the fire."

"The fire?" Jigger repeated, and it occurred to Severus that the man most likely Apparated directly behind the shop every morning and hadn't noticed anything amiss in the Alley.

"The Muggle odds-and-ends shop," Cadogan clarified. "It's practically burned down. The Ministry's put out the last of it, but it doesn't look good."

Jigger pushed past them and opened the door, leaning out to watch for himself for just a moment before he restored the door to its closed position. "That is unfortunate," he said. "The fire-sensing charms were inadequate?"

"Apparently," Severus replied. "I didn't hear anything, and I certainly would have at this range."

Jigger scowled. "It demonstrates extreme carelessness to allow such a charm to lapse."

"Unless it was purposefully removed," Cadogan pointed out.

"You suspect arson, Ms Cadogan?" Jigger asked, the slightest hint of surprise showing on his usually stoic face.

"A Muggle shop burns down just when this 'blood purity' movement is building up steam?" Cadogan said. "Yes, I do."

Jigger frowned. "I do not follow politics," he said, "But I would prefer not to think that any British wizard would purposefully cause the destruction of his own city's streets."

"British wizards," Cadogan said drily, "are more than capable of violence."

"You are certainly correct," Jigger acceded. "But unless you intend to run outside and aid in extinguishing the remaining flames, we should all return to our posts. We do that shop's proprietors no good by gawking at it." He gestured sharply for Cadogan to return to the counter and, with a second jerk of his head, preceded Severus down the stairs to the laboratory, where Severus was instructed to brew a large batch of an effective fire-repellent solution.

It sold for three times the usual asking price.

* * *

_Severus?_

_Severus?_

_SEV?_

_Yes?_

_Where were you? Are you okay?_

_I have been in the laboratory all day, as is usual. Why do_

_Oh thank God. I read about the fire. So you're okay?_

_Yes, certainly. The fire occurred several shops down from Slug & Jigger's. We were not affected in the slightest._

_Oh. Okay. I'm glad._

_There is no cause for alarm._

_Okay._

* * *

_MUGGLE PARAPHERNALIA SHOP CLOSES_

_London – The proprietors of "Books & Bits & Bobs," the shop selling non-enchanted items of Muggle origin at 22 Diagon Alley, have announced that they will not attempt to repair and re-open the storefront after last week's fire. "I might not be the smartest man in the world, but I know a bad business decision when I see it," explains store owner Robert Gillicuddy. "We're cutting our losses and moving out near my mum's. She'll like having the grandkids around, anyway, before they're off to Hogwarts." Mr Gillicudy's mother, a Muggle woman, has reportedly retired to the Côte d'Azur, leading some to speculate if Mr Gillicuddy's mixed-heritage children might not be bound for Beauxbatons._

_A few wizards with niche interests have reacted to the news of the shop's closure with disappointment. "It's a real shame," says Arthur Weasley, 27, a minor staff person in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. "So many wizards never even see so much as a Muggle teacup unless it's been enchanted to bite off noses. How are we supposed to build an appreciation for true Muggle artefacts if we never see so much as a ploog?"_

_The shop's alleged educational value, however, is not recognised by the Hogwarts Board of Governors. "Though I am truly saddened for the Gillicuddy family's loss, I do not believe the magical community as a whole will suffer for a lack of Muggle miscellany," says Lucius Malfoy, 23, Hogwarts Governor and son of Abraxas Malfoy, philanthropist. "After all, we are most concerned with instilling an appreciation for _Magical_ culture in our children. Those who would seek out information on Muggles have every opportunity to do so outside of the magical community."_

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has ruled that, despite unfounded rumours, the fire was not the result of arson. In an official statement released today to members of the press, the Ministry states that the fire was "most likely caused by the shop's stock of items, as Muggle objects, as we know, are likely to produce spark and flame at the least provocation." The Ministry reminds all homeowners and shop keepers to renew their fire-sensing charms at least every six months to prevent this type of accident._

_Mr Gillicuddy asks that anyone with an interest in purchasing the retail space available at 22 Diagon Alley contact Jessamine Tate of Tate & Spector Magical Property Management, 49 Diagon Alley._

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all of your reviews! As of this chapter, I've now been posting material for over a year, and I never would have stuck with it without all of your support. Thank you, thank you!

And the good news is that, with summer over, updates should be more frequent—look for the next chapter, which will finish up the Spring of '77 (and Lily's sixth year), sometime next weekend.


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